#elder cunningham imagine

[phierecycled]

All the missionaries wearing ties with African patterns on it in the Hello reprise at the end of BoM is my favourite little detail in the show

[springfaekohaku]

Fics that I’m dying to write:

Steve In The Upside Down (so many variations)

Steve getting shot by Nancy in S1 (might also connect to Steve being dragged into the Upside Down) How Will that turn out? What are the consequences? How does this affect everyone? It was only supposed to be a warning shot…

Steve befriending a Demodog. It somehow disconnected from the Hivemind or was created as defect, hence the other monsters turn on it. But Steve saves it and in turn they both bond.

Steve has Powers (I’m already writing and continuing my first fic. But I want more different powers for him)

Steve’s powers being more physical and more practical. Maybe even adaptable and willing to change. Especially under pressure. Kinda like how El can fight off 001 in their minds and Steve can finish him off by destroying his physical body too.

Richard Harrington and Steve both flee to escape the abuse from Richard’s wife, Steve’s Mother and find themselves at Forest Hills Trailer Park. Before S1 maybe?? Eddie and Wayne notice their new neighbours and their story starts from there.

Hannibal Inspired fic but I’ve never seen the show. Only like, the premise and insane amount of Hannigram. Except, Henry/001/Vecna was stolen, taken under Brenner, a mad-man who believes that Cannibalism is the key to knowing all and the human condition. 001 was passed the torch to continue Brenner’s experiments and quest. So, he tries to find his first victim. First it was El, but then she escaped. His first attempt and failure, but he succeeds with capturing Steve. But then no matter how hard he tries, Steve never breaks, so he sets out to find a more younger impressionable youth; enter Will Byers. Steve stays and tries to keep Will alive and sane. Will they escape? Will they be brainwashed like how Brenner did to Henry? Will El find others to help them escape? Will they actually find the key from consuming human flesh? Is that Jason fucking Carver and why does he have Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson tied up? Steve feels like everything is going to shit. Now he has more people to save before they become the next main course. Hehehehehe—

Steve actually being Dmitri’s son. Steve was taken as a baby and sent across to the USA, Dmitri hoping to give him a better shot at life rather than to stay in Russia. Can you imagine in S4 when Dmitri follows Hopper back to Hawkins that he’s reunified with his son?

Everyone besides Steve is a Vampire and Steve is the last werewolf. Humans have hunted down Werewolves for centuries and the numbers have dwindled down severely, right down to almost extinction. Vampires are more adaptable and find it easy to survive in plain sight. The Party and everyone in their Coven have found sanctuary in Hawkins and for years, things have been normal. But then a new scent and sunshine of a boy comes along with it (after S1) — but his timing is seemingly the worst because now he’s facing off Demodogs as a giant wolf and no one knows who he truly is unless he shifted back as a human. In S1, he missed out on the excitement but he got to know and become close to everyone. But then in S2, he is faced with the existence of The Upside Down and vein revealed that his friends and found-family are in fact Vampires. Oh and Vecna is a boomer elder-vampire. Everyone in The Party does not know ANYTHING about Werewolves and so, they learn a lot from Steve when they finally know about him and vice versa. ;))

Another Werewolf Steve AU but this time, he’s hurt, while hunting in his wolf form, he was caught in a bear trap and found by Wayne. Inspired by How To Train Your Dragon scene, Wayne was about to mercifully kill the wolf, but looked into his eyes and saw himself. So he instead took it upon himself and take the wolf back and nurse it back to health. Eddie of course has no idea what his Uncle is hiding until he finds out and freaks out. But finds himself enamoured by the wolf too. Steve is so fucked because he needs to shift back soon, his body itches and the need to be human again nawed at his entire being.

Kali introduces the Punk Culture to Steve. They have a sibling pond and Steve loves his new self. Kali dyes his hair, shaves it a little on the side/s and helps picks out clothes and everything. The whole gang also educated him of the history, iconic figures and music. Just, Punk Steve means a lot to me. You can also imagine him and El bonding about it too. “Bitching.�� Eddie is head over heels. Wait, is that a bloody hanky in his pants right back pocket?

I will expand on these later and separately. But these fic ideas have been in my brain and I can’t write them out because I already have two fics to focus on. So ah, thank you for letting me get this off my mind and into the world. 💜🪻

[scotianostra]

The last two posts were meant to be scheduled for tomorrow, oh well onto todays anniversaries....

January 17th 1883 saw the birth of the writer Compton Mackenzie.

I've explained in mainy posts that just because you weren't born on Scottish soil, it doesn't mean you are not Scottish, well I'll leave it to the Scottish writer Andro Linklater this time tp exoplain Compton Mackenzies credentails, not that they should be needed. Liklater penned a biography on Mackenzie, so is more than qualified;

“(He) wasn’t born a Scot, and he didn’t sound like a Scot. But nevertheless his imagination was truly Scottish.”

Edward Montague Compton Mackenzie was born in West Hartlepool in 1883 and raised in London. His was a theatrical family – many of whose members used Compton as their stage name. His grandfather Henry Compton was a well-known Shakespearean actor of the Victorian era. A history graduate of Magdalen College, Oxford, the young Mackenzie published his first novel in 1912 but his writing career was stalled by the outbreak of war.

He quickly signed up and saw action at Gallipoli. In 1915 he was recruited into the fledgling Secret Service and was posted across the eastern Mediterranean. Although he would later be awarded a knighthood, Mackenzie was no darling of the British establishment. In 1932 he was hauled before the courts and fined for breaching the Official Secrets Act for writing Greek Memories – a candid reflection of his time as a spy. At a time when the British public was scarcely aware of the security services, Mackenzie freely outlined its organisation. It was withdrawn from sale and was only published in full as recently as 2011.

In 1933 he took revenge on the Secret Service with Water on the Brain, an obvious swipe at the Service. Despite its satirical cover, he managed to include a few genuine morsels – such as the fact that the chief of the Service always wrote in green ink. At story’s end, the location of the Secret Service’s headquarters is revealed in a spy thriller and the spooks have to move out. The building becomes an asylum for “the servants of bureaucracy who have been driven mad in the service of the country”. By this point Mackenzie was already resident in Scotland and had become close friends with the poet Hugh MacDiarmid and the influential writer, thinker and adventurer Robert Cunninghame Graham. Together they helped establish the National Party of Scotland in 1928, which emerged in 1934 as the modern SNP.

Mackenzie settled on the Hebridean island of Barra and concentrated on his most ambitious project, The Four Winds of Love. Gavin Wallace, another of his biographers, later wrote: “The Four Winds of Love, published in six volumes between 1937 and 1945 and containing almost 1 million words, is one of the most ambitious Scottish novels of the twentieth century, an enormous historical odyssey which anatomizes the politics of peripheral nationalism both throughout Europe and in Britain, again through semi-autobiographical character development.”

But it was Mackenzie’s comic novels that won him wider fame and fortune. Whisky Galore, based on a real-life incident in Eriskay in 1941, was first adapted for the big screen by Ealing studios and released to popular acclaim in 1948. The enduring appeal of the novel was later summed up by one Scotsman literary critic:

“So what if it perpetrates the old, cliched ‘Brigadoon’ myth? Scots, English, American or Martian, no-one can resist this tale of ill-gotten whisky gain on a Scottish island in wartime. It’s simply hilarious.”

Such was Mackenzie’s status as an elder statesman of letters he was knighted in 1952 and remained a much-respected cultural commentator for the rest of his life. In later years he lived in Drummond Place, in Edinburgh’s New Town, where he died from cancer aged 89, in 1972, he is buried on Barra.

Lavish tributes followed. Dr Robert McIntyre, president of the SNP and the first Scottish nationalist elected to parliament, described Mackenzie as “the Grand Old Man of Scotland”. Novelist Eric Linklater said he was a “consummate stylist, who, unlike most writers, also lived with style.”

There are many Mackenzie quotes I could call on, but my favourite is

“Love makes the world go round? Not at all. Whisky makes it go round twice as fast.”

[11x13kyle]

So the slightest bit of backstory but i got a tiktok from Gutenburg! The Musical with Andrew Rannels and Josh Gad and it was of the current actors in the roles of Elder Price and Elder Cunningham being the surprise guests.

Anyways, i did some comments snooping and someone said “imagine of they got trey parker and matt stone” and the plays account Liked that comment so like. I fear their time on stage is imminent. (But also i feel like that would be cool lowkey)

when i saw gutenberg i had this vision of that happening to me and got scared

[kurtxhummels]

You are 100% correct in that aspect. There's a bit of variation in the music for both holidays, but at the same time there's not enough; soon enough you're just hearing the same thing over and over again, and it gets old really quick. It's like the episode of Superstore where Garrett hears the one Halloween song over and over again and goes a little crazy lol. But at the same time if all of the class songs went away, I'd probably cry. It's not necessarily that I find it boring or anything like that - I do love Shakespeare - I just never feel like I'm quite the right fit for any of the characters; I might change my mind in the future, though. Honestly, it probably has to do with the fact that I applied to a few productions back in New York but was always told I just "wasn't the right fit" for the role so it sort of dissuaded me from auditioning again. There's only so many times you can hear "you're just not the right Romeo we had in mind" or "you're just not our vision for Hamlet" or things like that before you finally take the hint, you know? It's definitely a funny production, that's for sure. I don't think I could pull off Elder Cunningham, so I'm aiming for Elder McKinley; it helps that I've played him before ha. It's great that you're taking a break too! I can imagine planning for the reopening was plenty stressful, so you definitely deserve a long break.

Definitely, it's like the anthem of Halloween, basically. I think the problems with both holidays' music selections are one doesn't have enough songs without it getting old and being a repeat of the same songs in less than a day and the other is mostly all the same songs, just different versions by different artists and even more repeats. Plus, I'd miss hearing the throwback jams that are pretty much the staple of the name change. Oh, why no Shakespeare for Kurt? Just not as interested in it or are you more of a spectator than a participant with his stuff? Book of Mormon always sounded interesting, I never had a chance to see it, but I've heard a few songs. It sounded funny, at least. What role do you think you'll go out for? And hey, like I always say, we all need a break once in awhile. Even from the things we enjoy doing. That's why I'm taking some time off in a couple weeks.

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Market- Arnold Cunningham

Pairing: Arnold Cunningham x Reader

Characters: Arnold Cunningham

Warnings: N/A

Request: Anon- Hi love! Can you please write up an elder Cunningham imagine where the reader is a catholic missionary (if you don’t write religious specific readers that’s fine, just say they’re there for business or something) and they and their companion see the two Mormon boys and the companions like NOPE bc awkward but Y/n does actually meet Arnold in the market later in the day and they hit it off right away and they’re frickin adorable and y/n’s like “well I’m not converting, but can I see you again?” 

Word Count: 417

Author: Charlotte

“Thank you anyway,” you smiled walking away from the stall that was practically empty.

As you waved to the vendor, you hadn’t turned around to see where you were going and ended up knocking into someone. When you collided with them, you grabbed ahold of them to equally stop yourself from falling but also to stop them from getting hurt.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologised. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

In your grasp was a short man whom was still a little taller than you were. He had glasses and curly black hair, sticking out like a sore thumb in the quaint village in Uganda that you currently called home.

“Oh… um… no… I… um…” he rambled, not particularly saying anything, just making miscellaneous noises.

“Are you a missionary too?” You asked.

He nodded his head, holding up his black leather book, to prove his point.

“Same,” you smiled. “My missionary companion has come down with a bug and I was looking for anything that might help her out but there is a whole lot of nothing here.”

The man nodded his head, his cheek having become flushed red even though he had been completely unable to say a word to you so far.

“What religion are you here for?” You asked.

He cleared his throat before letting out his croaky words. “The Church of the Latter-Day Saints.”

“I’m Catholic,” you said. “You guys had any luck? We’ve not been able to convert anyone as of yet, but my partner and I haven’t left our hut too much since she fell ill.”

“Oh… no… no one yet,” he whispered.

Even though he seemed a little awkward and clearly not conversational, you found it somewhat cute in the way he behaved, struggling to form his words together as he spoke to you- it was somewhat endearing.

“I’m Sister Y/S/N… I mean Y/N,” you smiled, moving a hand to toy with the hem of your sleeve.

His eyes followed your hand, seeing your equally awkward behavior before grinning at you as he played with the torn edges of his book.

“Arnold Cunningham.”

You held out a hand for him to take, which he did, shaking it in a bit too invigorated manner. Although normally unpleasant, you didn’t care that his hands were rather clammy as yours were as well. You were just glad to get to know someone who wasn’t instantly against talking to you as you were a missionary.

“Well it’s lovely to meet you Arnold.”

[the-imagines-of-tonight]

Do you do headcanons? If you do could you write "Dating Elder Cunningham would include?"

He hugs you. A lot. Even if it’s only been five minutes since he last saw you he’d run towards you and envelop you in a tight hug

He’d make you watch all his favourite movies with him: a different one every week, probably on a Friday night

But you wouldn’t really hear any of it, ‘cause Arnold would talk over the whole thing, just spewing out random facts about the production and lore

Once you watched a scary movie together. He got so scared he didn’t make it to the end, so it was both the first and last time watching one together

Sometimes you’d catch him just staring at you with a slight smile and glazed over eyes - he’d claim it was because he was ‘just thinking’ but he was actually just admiring you

Late a night, if you two were cuddling together on the couch, he’d whisper “How did I get so lucky”

He did not mean to say that out loud holy frick

That was meant to be an inside thought not an outside statement

Every morning you’d help him with his tie, either tightening it or straightening it up

He would say “I love you” at least 12 times a day

He’s just so in love with you it hurts he’s so cute and loves you with all of his heart

[theaterkid821]

There’s Always a Rainbow (Arnold Cunningham x Reader)

A/N: Hey all! I live! So sorry I haven’t posted in a very long time. It was a combination of working with 3-year-olds all day killing my brain and now depression kicking my ass. Anyways, I’m not doing much these days so hoping to get back into writing. As usual, requests and tags are open. Love you all so much and hope to see you soon.

TW: a little cursing since... it’s me 

The white boy was watching you again. It wasn’t that you minded, you just wanted to know why. Every time you went to the market, he was there, watching you. Your family lived in the next town over, so you were never visited by the missionaries, but you knew that they were there. 

You would usually just grab the stuff you needed and leave, but he couldn’t help but catch your eye one day. He was talking to his friend, looking very awkward and very cute. For a while, you always just saw the two of them (although you never really liked the other one, he seemed too cocky), and then you saw just him. Which was odd to you, seeing as he was always in the company of the other. He still was his awkward self but he seemed a bit more… confident? What the hell happened? You didn’t wanna say anything, because he might try to convert you, or whatever the hell he was here for.

But you were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even realize him walking over to you. You were so caught off-guard that you nearly jumped up into the air when he tapped your shoulder. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

You take a few deep breaths and calm down from the shock, “It’s okay. Just scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that…”

“It’s fine… did you want something?” You were covering the blush you held, he was really cute and really awkward, you loved it.

“Um yeah, I was just-I just think you’re really cute and wanted to see if you wanted to go out with me at some point. Ok thanks bye.” He instantly walked off before you could say anything.

“Hey, wait!” you called and jogged towards him. He turned to face you and you kissed his cheek. “Yeah, that’d be great.” He smiled triumphantly and put a fist in the air.

.         .         .

It’d been a few weeks, and you and Arnold (as you learned his name was) were getting along great. He made many references you didn’t really understand, but he spoke of them fondly so you didn’t care. He looked really cute when he was happy, so carefree and relaxed. There was a sort of understanding that you didn’t really talk about his job. He wasn’t trying to convert you, so it never really came up.

That was, until one day.

He came knocking on your door and cried in your shoulder the minute you opened it. “I messed up (Y/N), I messed up so bad.”

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. Come sit, tell me what happened.”

And he did. He told you everything about what happened. Kevin leaving, him telling the lies and how it got too far. You were a little shocked, but you comforted him, nonetheless. Not even ten minutes later, there was another knock on your door. This time, the skinny white boy, Kevin, was at your house, “I’m sorry to bother you, but someone told me my friend would be here, is Elder Cunningham here?”

“Um, yeah, he’s a little upset now so I wouldn’t bother him if I were you.”

“Thank you…” he takes a good look at you, “so you’re the one who he’s been talking about so much?”

You blush at that comment, “I… guess?”

He nods and shakes his head, as if to tell himself to focus, and walks over to Arnold. “Elder, come on, we need to get going. We… no you, you have people to lead.”

“But the church hates me! I can’t do this!”

“Just come with me, it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna figure something out.”

You piped in, thinking it would be a good idea, “and I’ll be here whenever you need anything. Happy or sad, I’m here.”

He smiles and regains the confidence he had when he asked you out. He walked over to you and kissed you softly, “I’ll see you soon.” You smiled and watched them leave, knowing he’d be ready to face whatever came his way as long as you were by his side.

[mcrgane]

So I just discovered how to draw on my tablet and drew some bom characters cause I love them

[reptillyan]

So Imagine:

Poptarts has a friend back home who he writes to and this person suffers from anxiety and depression and so they have just been assigned a therapy pet.The letter enthusiastically discusses the pet and the leaps and bounds it has helped the friend and the adventures they both go on.  

Naturally Poptarts thinks of Elder Church and how he would appreciate a therapy pet too. So he gets him one. 

Only our sweet little Poptarts doesn’t adopt a pet from a professional agency or even a pet store. No, he finds a straggly little puppy on the edge of the village, picks it up and takes it home wrapped in his jacket. 

When he gets home, he debates trying to hide the puppy but decides because it is for health purposes it should be okay (and maybe not telling is classed as lying?). So he takes it into the living room and the other elders stop dead. There is a wild hyena in Suddenly they are all stood on any high surface shouting, screaming and squealing. Mckinley naturally jumps towards Price but gets sandwiched in the middle of Cunningham who is also clinging onto Price. Price is irritated at the initial invasion of personal space. That is until Connor whispers that Kevin is his hero and then Price is pretending to be macho, holding Connor tighter and standing straighter. Although like the others Kevin doesn’t actually help take the hyena out as he is too scared he will get ripped to shreds by the ferocious beast.

Poptarts is confused until Church tells him to slowly put the pup down and step towards him as the pup is in fact a hyena puppy, so he puts it down hesitantly. The pup stays frozen in the middle of the room shaking and occasionally scratching behind his ears. Once Poptarts makes it to Church, Church refuses to let him go placing his body between the pup and Poptarts.

Due to how loud the elders are, Mafala, Gotswana and co burst through the front door brandishing knives, pistols and machetes ready to fight off the intruders and murderers. When they see the hyena pup in the middle of the room peeing itself out of nervousness they all laugh at the elders overreaction. They put it down to “the white boys are so fucking weird”, they grab the pup by the scruff of the neck and take him outside to set free. 

For weeks after, the villagers mock the boys over their reactions, and the boys constantly feel itchy due to the fleas that the pup brought in.Whenever the incident is brought up Poptarts cries because he did the wrong thing and how can he be so stupid?! But Church occasionally states that he misses the smelly mutt (Spot)  just so Poptarts feels better. He does not in fact miss the mutt.

[holy-prophet-man]

kate’s muck up matinee notes!!

i am so sorry this is such a mess of a post but here is a collection of all the cool and fun things i noticed on the last performance of the covid cast of the west end mormons!!!!! the goofiness was amped up x1000 and i saw SO MUCH!!! i’m really sorry again i’ve never been very good at explaining things but i tried my best :S

THE AIRPORT SCENE!!

kevin price (played by stephen rolley) had a toblerone. it was passed around between everyone, but he was wielding a toblerone.

jed hoyle, playing who i presume is kevin’s sister, took a selfie on-stage with his phone with all of kevin’s family. i would kill to see that photo and i’m 60% sure i was in the background of one of them

VILLAGER STUFF

myles hart playing the doctor was fucking crazy. every scene he was caressing a different woman. it was totally on purpose too. he would be holding one woman gently as if she was his wife one scene, and the next would be kissing another on the forehead it was wild.

in the time passing between hasa diga eebowai and the conversation between naba, price and cunningham (where they all finish dancing and run off stage) he GRABBED one of the girls by the back and air-fucked her. really quite the sight you should have been there.

in man up, when darth vader comes on stage, he wasn’t wearing the vader mask!! it was akmed just chilling unmasked it was very funny

georgia (one of the people who were leaving) in the scene where the general enters the village, was being held by one of the girls (i cannot remember for the life of me who) with a death grip she could not escape from. she was being held hostage and she was CLEARLY trying to break free but couldn’t it was very funny

JOSEPH SMITH AMERICAN MOSES

the mission president was having his face caressed so gently by jesus’ wiener it was such a surreal experience to watch

at the very end of the performance they THREW THE SHIT FABRIC AT THE FRONT ROW. THEY GOT SHIT ON IT WAS WILD (the conductor ended up grabbing it and stuffing it down below him though haha)

SHIPPY STUFF

at the end of the musical where they scare away the general and nabulungi and arnold apologise to one another, instead of just hugging for a second like they normally do, arnold shoved his face in the crook of nabus neck (can only imagine there was a kiss in there too) for quite some time… good lord

not sure if it’s something rolley does as price since it was my first performance of his, but he grabbed mckinley’s neck and pulled him a little close when he got the idea to go to the mission president which was definitely something

OH and arnold also grabbed nabulungi’s neck in their little section in i am africa , and considering i’ve seen that man perform about 15 times before believe me when i say he has NEVER done that (same goes for that little neck thing at the end too)

Uh oh there was a fuck up

steven webb as mckinley broke character. you could probably take this as a mcpriceley thing because of the context.

basically in the scene where kevin storms in covered in blood, he storms out of the building shouting: “i’m not wasting the most important two years of my life!!” . then arnold tries to run after him, but is stopped by mckinley shouting: “elder cunningham! do you also want to break rule number 23!?” buuuut for some reason he slipped up and ended up shouting “elder price!!” at cunningham instead.

he didn’t try to style it out or anything, he shook his head and totally froze up but the audience had noticed the mistake and everyone just cheered him instead lolol. but as a result of that arnold skipped his “this is like a matrix logic trick!” line and just left without saying anything.. it was really cute he just laughed about it and everyone cheered :)) he clearly had price on his mind

ANYWAY THE SHOW WAS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL TO WATCH. At the end in tomorrow is a latter day when the mormons have their little song and dance and the villagers are stood behind them, everyone was hugging each-other and it was just so nice. they were all smiling the whole show long, and they were even laughing at some serious / quiet bits . it was very obvious they were enjoying themselves and it made me very very happy :]]

if you were at the show then pplleease tell me if i got anything wrong or you saw something i didn’t :] i was at a weird angle so probably missed some stuff!!

and thank you @chaoticunorigionalstranger for telling me that a muck up matinee is a thing i am forever in your debt

[reprisedpiece]

bringing this back as well bc i feel like everyone just needs a ben platt video :’)

[oldmemz2017]

DATING ELDER CUNNINGHAM WOULD INCLUDE PLEASE I HAVENT SEEN LITERALLY ANY

ayyye ok! Thank you for requesting love!

Dating Elder Cunningham Would Include- dates to the cinema to see geeky movies.

- dorky PDA. Lots of it. He especially likes touching/holding your hand.

- he kisses you randomly then giggles for like an hour afterwards b/c ohmygawsh a prettyperson likes him

- he likes buying you things

- he once bought you a life sized massive teddy bear and two workers in the store had to walk it out to the car with him - you were shocked and completely in love - he took a picture of you with it and it’s actually on his bedside table. - you keep it in your room and hug it every night because it reminds you of him

- he gets embarrassed around you easily

- he’s really clumsy so you were walking home and he kinda stumbled over the sidewalk and then he turned red and was really sad b/c he thought you judged him

- you kissed him and hugged him and aaa cuties

- CUDDLES. SO MANY DAMN CUDDLES.

- he never felt this way about anyone and once again, he was confused™ at literally everything

- “what’s this emotion???why am i reacting like this??? Why does she make me all blushy??” he thinks that a lot

- he REALLY LIKES YOU JESUS CHRIST just snuggle him already

[usuallyapirate]

A short Introduction to the most common Player-Races in Dungeons and Dragons as given by the DnD 5e Players Handbook:

Dwarf

“Yer late,elf!” came the rough edge of a familiar voice. Bruenor Battlehammer walked up the back of his dead foe, disregarding the fact that the heavy monster lay on top of his elven friend. In spite of the added discomfort, the dwarf’s long, pointed, often-broken nose and gray-streaked though still-fiery red beard came as a welcome sight to Drizzt. “Knew I’d find ye in trouble if I came out an' looked for ye!" 

– R.A. Salvatore, The Crysta lShard

Kingdoms rich in ancient grandeur, halls carved into the roots of mountains, the echoing of picks and hammers in deep mines and blazing forges, a commitment to clan and tradition, and a burning hatred of goblins and orcs—these common threads unite all dwarves.

Elf

“I HAVE NEVER IMAGINED SUCH BEAUTY EXISTED,” Goldmoon said softly. The day’s march had been difficult, but the reward at the end was beyond their dreams. The companions stood on a high cliff over the fabled city of Qualinost. Four slender spires rose from the city’s corners like glistening spindles, their brilliant white stone marbled with shining silver. Graceful arches, swooping from spire to spire, soared through the air. Crafted by ancient dwarven metalsmiths, they were strong enough to hold the weight of an army, yet they appeared so delicate that a bird lighting on them might overthrow the balance. These glistening arches were the city’s only boundaries; there was no wall around Qualinost. The elven city opened its arms lovingly to the wilderness.

 – Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman, Dragons of Autumn Twilight

Elves are a magical people of otherworldly grace, living in the world but not entirely part of it. They live in places of ethereal beauty, in the midst of ancient forests or in silvery spires glittering with faerie light, where soft music drifts through the air and gentle fragrances waft on the breeze. Elves love nature and magic, art and artistry, music and poetry, and the good things of the world.

Halfling

Regis the halfling, the only one of his kind for hundreds of miles in any direction, locked his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the mossy blanket of the tree trunk. Regis was short, even by the standards of his diminutive race, with the fluff of his curly brown locks barely cresting the three-foot mark, but his belly was amply thickened by his love of a good meal, or several, as the opportunities presented themselves. The crooked stick that served as his fishing pole rose up above him, clenched between two of his toes, and hung out over the quiet lake, mirrored perfectly in the glassy surface of Maer Dualdon. 

– R.A. Salvatore, The Crystal Shard

The comforts of home are the goal of most halflings‘ lives: a place to settle in peace and quiet, far from marauding monsters and clashing armies; a blazing fire and a generous meal; fine drink and fine conversation. Though some halflings live out their days in remote agricultural communities, others form nomadic bands that travel constantly, lured by the open road and the wide horizon to discover the wonders of new lands and peoples. But even these wanderers love peace, food, hearth, and home, though home might be a wagon jostling along a dirt road or a raft floating downriver.

Human

These were the stories of a restless people who long ago took to the seas and rivers in longboats, first to pillage and terrorize, then to settle. Yet there was an energy, a love of adventure, that sang from every page. Long into the night Uriel read, lighting candle after precious candle. She'd never given much thought to humans, but these stories fascinated her. In these yellowed pages were tales of bold heroes, strange and fierce animals, mighty primitive gods, and a magic that was part and fabric of that distant land. 

– Elaine Cunningham, Daughter of the Drow

In the reckonings of most worlds, humans are the youngest of the common races, late to arrive on the world scene and short-lived in comparison to dwarves, elves, and dragons. Perhaps it is because of their shorter lives that they strive to achieve as much as they can in the years they are given. Or maybe they feel they have something to prove to the elder races, and that’s why they build their mighty empires on the foundation of conquest and trade. Whatever drives them, humans are the innovators, the achievers, and the pioneers of the worlds.

Dragonborn

Her father stood on the first of the three stairs that led down from the portal, unmoving. The scales of his face had grown paler around the edges, but Clanless Mehen still looked as if he could wrestle down a dire bear himself. His familiar well-worn armor was gone, replaced by violet-tinted scale armor with bright silvery tracings. There was a blazon on his arm as well, the mark of some foreign house. The sword at his back was the same, though, the one he had carried since even before he had found the twins left in swaddling at the gates of Arush Vayem. Father’s face was as kill she'd been fortunate to learn. A human who couldn’t spot the shift of her eyes or Havilar’s would certainly see only the indifference of a dragon in Clanless Mehen’s face. But the shift of scales, the arch of a ridge, the set of his eyes, the gape of his teeth – her father's face spoke volumes. But every scale of it, this time, seemed completely still— the indifference of a dragon, even to Farideh.

– Erin M. Evans, The Adversary

Born of dragons, as their name proclaims, the dragonborn walk proudly through a world that greets them with fearful incomprehension. Shaped by draconic gods or the dragons themselves, dragonborn originally hatched from dragon eggs as a unique race, combining the best attributes of dragons and humanoids. Some dragonborn are faithful servants to true dragons, others form the ranks of soldiers in great wars, and still others find themselves adrift, with no clear calling in life.

Gnome

Skinny and flaxen-haired, his skin walnut brown and his eyes a startling turquoise, Burgell stood half as tall as Aeron climb up on a stool to look out the peephole. Like most habitations in Oeble, that particula tenement had been built for humans, and smaller residents coped with the resulting awkwardness as best they could. But at least the relative largeness of the apartment gave Burgell room to pack in all his gnome-sized gear. The front room was his workshop, and it contained a bewildering miscellany of tools: hammers, chisels, saws, lockpicks, tinted lenses, jeweler's loupes, and jars of powdered and shredded ingredients for casting spells. A fat gray cat, the mage’s familiar, lay curled atop a grimoire. It opened its eyes, gave Aeron a disdainful yellow stare, then appeared to go back to sleep. 

– Richard Lee Byers, The Black Bouquet

A constant hum of busy activity pervades the warrens and neighborhoods where gnomes form their close-knit communities. Louder sounds punctuate the hum: a crunch of grinding gears here, a minor explosion there, a yelp of surprise or triumph, and especially bursts of laughter. Gnomes take delight in life, enjoying every moment of invention, exploration, investigation, creation, and play.

Half-Elf

Flint squinted into the setting sun. He thought he saw the figure of a man striding up the path. Standing, Flint drew back into the shadow of a tall pine to see better. The man's walk was marked by an easy grace – an elvish grace, Flint would have said; yet the man’s body had the thickness and tight muscles of a human, while the facial hair was definitely humankind’s. All the dwarf could see of the man’s face beneath a green hood was tan skin and a brownish-red beard. A longbow was slung over one shoulder and a sword hung at his left side. He was dressed in soft leather, carefully tooled in the intricate designs the elves loved. But no elf in the world of Krynn could grow a beard ... no elf, but...

“Tanis?” said Flint hesitantly as the man neared.

“The same.” The newcomer’s bearded face split in a wide grin. He held open his arms and, before the dwarf could stop him, engulfed Flint in a hug that lifted him off the ground. The dwarf clasped his old friend close for a brief instant, then, remembering his dignity, squirmed and freed himself from the half-elf’s embrace. 

– Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, Dragons of Autumn Twilight

Walking in two worlds but truly belonging to neither, half-elves combine what some say are the best qualities of their elf and human parents: human curiosity, inventiveness, and ambition tempered by the refined senses, love of nature, and artistic tastes of the elves. Some half-elves live among humans, set apart by their emotional and physical differences, watching friends and loved ones age while time barely touches them. Others live with the elves, growing restless as they reach adulthood in the timeless elven realms, while their peers continue to live as children. Many half-elves, unable to fit into either society, choose lives of solitary wandering or join with other misfits and outcasts in the adventuring life.

Half-Orc

The warchief Mhurren roused himself from his sleeping-furs and his women and pulled a short hauberk of heavy steel rings over his thick, well-muscled torso. He usually rose before most of his warriors, since he had a strong streak of human blood in him, and he found the daylight less bothersome than most of his tribe did. Among the Bloody Skulls, a warrior was judged by his strength, his fierceness, and his wits. Human ancestry was no blemish against a warrior – provided he was every bit as strong, enduring, and blood thirsty as his full-blooded kin. Half-orcs who were weaker than their orc comrades didn't last long among the Bloody Skulls or any other orc tribe for that matter. But it was often true that a bit of human blood gave a warrior just the right mix of cunning, ambition, and self-discipline to go far indeed, as Mhurren had. He was master of a tribe that could muster two thousand spears, and the strongest chief in Thar. 

– Richard Baker, Swordmage

Whether united under the leadership of a mighty warlock or having fought to a standstill after years of conflict, orc and human tribes sometimes form alliances, joining forces into a larger horde to the terror of civilized lands nearby. When these alliances are sealed by marriages, half-orcs are born. Some half-orcs rise to become proud chiefs of orc tribes, their human blood giving them an edge over their full-blooded orc rivals. Some venture into the world to prove their worth among humans and other more civilized races. Many of these become adventurers, achieving greatness for their mighty deeds and notoriety for their barbaric customs and savage fury.

Tiefling

“But you do see the way people look at you, devil’s child." Those black eyes, cold as a winter storm, were staring right into her heart and the sudden seriousness in his voice jolted her.

“What is it they say?" he asked. “One’s a curiosity, two’s a conspiracy—”

“Three's a curse,” she finished. “You think I haven’t heard that rubbish before?”

“I know you have.” When she glared at him, he added, “It’s not as if I’m plumbing the depths of your mind, dear girl. That is the burden of every tiefling. Some break under it, some make it the millstone around their neck, some revel in it.” He tilted his head again, scrutinizing her, with that wicked glint in hiseyes. “You fight it, don’t you? Like a little wildcat, I wager. Every little jab and comment just sharpens your claws.” 

– Erin M. Evans, Brimstone Angels

To be greeted with stares and whispers, to suffer violence and insult on the street, to see mistrust and fear in every eye: this is the lot of the tiefling. And to twist the knife, tieflings know that this is because a pact struck generations ago infused the essence of Asmodeus – overlord of the Nine Hells – into their bloodline. Their appearance and their nature are not their fault but the result of an ancient sin, for which they and their children and their children’s children will always be held accountable.

[geminilily]

The Goddess is the universal Mother. She is the source of fertility, endless wisdom, and comfort. Wiccans revere Her as the giver of fertility, love, and abundance, though they acknowledge Her darker side as well. We see Her in the moon, the soundless sea, and in the green growth of the first spring. She is the embodiment of fertility and love.

As the Triple Goddess she is represented by three aspects: the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. The aspects each represent a different phase of life; the Maiden correlates with youth and puberty, the Mother with parenthood and maturity, and the Crone with old age and wisdom. Each aspect is then symbolized by a different phase of the moon, Maiden: Waxing, Mother: Full, and Crone: Waning & New. The phases represent the ever-shifting process of life unto death and then rebirth. She is the beginning and ending and everything in between.

The Number Three

The number three has often been a sacred number. It is still found in many sayings, such as, “all luck comes in threes,” or “a dream dreamed three times comes true.” Folktales often have three fairy godmothers or three wishes or three chances. It is also said by scientists that we live in the third dimension, the material world. Many ancient civilizations considered three to be a secret and lucky number. It symbolized birth, life, and death; the beginning, the middle, and the end; childhood, adulthood, and old age; body, mind, and spirit. Today, most schools of spiritual illumination have three steps or degrees. This can be found in the Masonic Lodge (Apprentice, Fellow-craft, Master) and most Wiccan covens or schools have three degrees. In numerology, the number three is the number of activity, creativity, talent, and knowledge.

The First Aspect: The Maiden

Sometimes called the Virgin or the Huntress, the Maiden represents the spring of the year and fresh beginning of all things. The Maiden is the continuation of all life, the repeating and endless cycle of birth and rebirth, of the body and of the spirit. She is the dawn, eternal youth, and she is enchantment and seduction. She is ripe with potential energy, vitality, wisdom, and spiritual growth. A lump of clay that has yet to be molded. She is represented in the lunar cycle by the Waxing Moon. The Maiden’s traditional color is white, indicating newness and innocence. She invites us to believe that future possibilities are infinite. She can be valuable when we need a fresh perspective on things. When we feel directionless she can be the creator of new ideas and new beginnings.

The Maiden is free with her feelings and emotions, often expressing herself in sudden decisions. She is empathetic to all creatures. She is independent, Her own person. No one owns or rules Her. She is responsible for Herself and Her actions. She knows who She is and dreams of the potential of what She can become. Vital to human happiness and growth is the Maiden’s determination to be Her individual self and all that She is capable of.

The Maiden is the Way-Shower in spiritual growth. She leads us down the spiritual path and urges us to combat our fears and hesitations. Through Her we learn to see the simple beauty and great wonder in the world. We remember how to imagine, which opens infinite doors in magick, particularly those of manifestation and astral projection. Without the ability to forget all the world has taught us we cannot do and look at the world with wide perspectives there remains a block on our ability to spiritually advance. In linear thought, in order to go forward, one must go back. In cyclical thinking one must always continue forward to reach the beginning again, however, in fluid thought, one can experience all aspects at once.

The Second Aspect: The Mother

The Mother aspect of the Goddess represents the summer, blazing noon, reproduction and fertility, and the high points in all cycles. She is in the ripeness of womanhood. This aspect is the one of ultimate and active creation. She is the great teacher of the Mysteries. The boiling or churning cauldron is Her symbol and She is represented in the night sky by the Full Moon. The Mother’s traditional color is red, the color of blood and the life force.

The Goddess as Mother seems naturally more accessible, because physical mothers tend to be closer to their children than fathers are. In the old days, there were no DNA tests, so a man could never truly be sure of fatherhood, but one could not deny a mother.

In the cycle of life, the Mother is associated with the stage of adulthood. Adulthood means accepting responsibilities, particularly those brought about by Her own actions. Acknowledging the results of our own decisions is one of the greatest responsibilities every individual, and humankind as a whole, has. By recognizing the Mother aspect of the Goddess we learn valuable lessons in self-discipline and patience as well.

The Goddess as Mother does not want Her creations to abuse themselves in anyway. Mistreating our bodies, whether by drugs and alcohol, or unsafe sex, or excessive food, or life threatening situations, it is against Her will. Mistreating our minds through negative self talk and staying in abusive situations are also not within Her desires. The Mother is balance and happiness, and enthusiasm for life.

It is through this aspect that we discover ourselves and our potentials; we learn to take responsibility for our actions. We learn to reach outward and inward, loving and receiving love. It is during this stage that we need to understand that every act of love is a ritual to the Mother Goddess, be it physical, mental, or spiritual. Love extends beyond the physical sexual act, encompassing acts of kindness and spiritual love. The Mother’s directive is, “To be loved truly, one must know how to love truly.”

The Mother is the great nurturer, Her love is unconditional, yet as with physical mothers, She disciplines when necessary. The Mother is confident in Her independence, going about the business of living while unconcerned with those who think they rule Her. There is no indecision within Her about Her abilities; She knows who and what She is. She is joy, and reveling in the joy of life itself. She is confidence, responsibility, and increasing knowledge of life. Along our spiritual journey she is the Great Teacher and Keeper of Knowledge. It is through Her that we learn the Great Mysteries.

The Third Aspect: The Crone

The Crone is the third and final aspect. She is also called the Dark Mother, Old Wise One, or the Hag. Since She is the least understood and symbolizes death, this aspect frightens many. The Crone recycles and reforms our soul into a new incarnation through Her cauldron. The Crone represents Winter, the night, the abyss where life rests before rebirth, the gateway to death and reincarnation, the Waning and New Moon, and the deepest of Mysteries and prophecies. Her traditional color is black, and the deepest of purples or dark blue. She is the Initiator into the Mysteries.

Advanced age and the wisdom of experience that comes with it should be honored and anticipated. It is a time of life when one can look back with introspection, remembering the good times with a happy heart and the bad times with wisdom. The rest of us could benefit from their help and hard-earned knowledge. Elders can pass on their knowledge by helping in schools, tutoring, and participating in events at community centers. They should demonstrate wisdom, vibrance, caring, and love.

The Dark Mother is the teacher of the very deepest of spiritual Mysteries, including the contacting of spirits. Through Her we learn the necessity of focusing our energy on important things, like spiritual growth, living our lives to the best of our ability while seeking the Goddess within. The Crone knows what She has been and what She will be. She is the ultimate Prophetess who sees the past, present, and future.

Everyone must come to terms with death and the Crone eventually. Most people have a healthy fear of death, which saves us from fatally risky behavior. That “will to live” is necessary to keep us fighting for survival through physical and mental illness. However, we should seriously contemplate our mortality. A comfortable relationship with the Crone will prepare us to handle the loss of friends and family. Eventually this relationship with the Crone will help us to make our own transition.

We must seek the Dark Mother not the other way around. When we continue our spiritual journey under the guidance of the Crone we find that the path that has led us downward eventually leads upward once again. With Her assistance, our eyes are open to the deepest spiritual mysteries. We gain the knowledge needed to plan a new life, whether that be the one in which we are now, or in the next.

Sources:

Maiden, Mother, Crone

D.J. Conway

Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner

Scott Cunningham

Wicca: The Complete Craft

D.J. Conway

[ryanccoleman]

"Summerland”: Review

“There is a place for escapism with an ethical backbone. More than ever, we need to be able to relax under the spell of fantasists we can trust not to poison us with irony or distort history to suit their ideology.“

Summerland is British dramatist and theater director Jessica Swale’s film directorial debut. It tells the story of Alice Lamb (Gemma Arterton), a misanthropic young folklorist who is forced to care for a child evacuated from London in advance of the Nazi blitz. The film opens and closes on the great Dame Penelope Wilton as older Alice in the 1970s, and flashes of the character’s memories of being an Oxford girl in the ‘20s run through the middle, but Summerland is primarily a sort of wartime conversion narrative. Alice’s nature, scarred over by love lost and gone bitter, is gradually healed by the slow emergence of maternal love for the bright-eyed and innocent child, Frank, played with preternatural nuance by newcomer Lucas Bond.

When Frank is dropped at the doorstep of Alice’s romantically isolated cliffside cottage on the outskirts of a town in East Sussex, he finds her in a bitter and recalcitrant state. For their first dinner she hands him an uncooked potato, raw ham, and a whole egg. “You don’t expect me to cook it for you? There’s the stove,” she points, and walks back to her life’s great pursuit—her writing. She spends her days laced into a rigid routine of researching and composing “academic theses, not stories,” as she corrects a prying town elder (Tom Courtenay), that use science to debunk narrative folkloric explanations for strange natural phenomena.

Her life is solitary, studious, and mercilessly subjected to the strictest self-imposed routine. The war’s sudden imposition, via Frank, on that routine brings with it other, more upbraiding interruptions. His inadvertent puncturing of the hermetic seal on her life stirs up vivid flashbacks of a time when she was, like him, looking toward the future with innocent hope. In that time, her twenties in the ‘20s, she met Gugu Mbatha-Raw’s Vera at a spring concert at Oxford. The spark was immediate, the chemistry undeniable. So began the hushed and rapturous affair whose sudden break has cast a long, withering shadow over Alice’s life. It is out from under this burden that Frank’s childlike curiosity and unquestioning faith in the goodness of other people begins to pull Alice.

Alice’s emotional flowering begins to dovetail with the subject of her latest inquiry—the Summerland myth. In the film, what Alice calls Summerland is actually Fata Morgana, or centuries-old mariner’s yarns of floating islands materializing inexplicably on the horizon, thought of as conjurings of the wicked sorceress of Arthurian lore, Morgan Le Fay. In reality, Summerland is a term created by theosophists in the 19th century to refer to a concept similar to heaven in ancient pagan cosmologies. Swale has simply nested the one within the visual of the other. Called variously The Otherworld, The Shining Land, and the Land of the Young by Celts, Summerland is “a land of eternal summer, with grassy fields and sweet flowing rivers,” like “Earth before the advent of humans,” writes popular witchsplainer Scott Cunningham. He could well be describing the pastoral, soft and sunlit setting of Swale’s film—the southeast English coast, shot gloriously on location.

If it’s possible to resist Summerland’s principal hook, namely, Swale’s ability to tell an intricately plotted, politically engaged, at times bleak story in a way that feels as sublime, escapist, and low stakes as the folklore its heroine is investigating, then the locations which provide backdrop for it all prove irresistible. It’s simply impossible to look at Gemma Arterton with no makeup on, hair free and flowing down her back, clad in a warm wardrobe of rustic, earth-toned skirts and cardigans, scrawling something about wildflowers in her leatherbound notebook, emblazoned against the operatic white chalk cliffs being continually washed by the sparkling sapphire sea and not feel instantly soothed, regardless of what else is going on, in her life or yours.

Landscape is then not just backdrop, it is central to the film’s most potent attribute—its palliative effect on the weary and discontented viewer’s soul. Cunningham’s evocation of Summerland, as an oasis suspended in time, above and parallel to the conflicted world, where all pain is temporarily abolished, extends beyond how the film looks to how it feels, landing at this particular moment.

Like the floating islands that give it its name, Summerland hovers above real life without ever quite touching down. In the moments the film’s dramatic conflicts threaten to break through the amniotic stasis of its sun-drenched cinematography, romantic thematic pursuits, and effervescent dialogue, Swale vanishes the stakes. Only one line is spoken about what would have been the multiply illicit nature of Arterton and Mbatha-Raw’s relationship, for instance. “They think we should burn in hell,” Alice has to explain to Frank, who in all his totemic, childlike innocence, has managed somehow to avoid homophobic social inculcation. Never mind the fact that their relationship, in addition to being same sex, was cross racial. What would it have been like for Vera, as a woman-loving Black woman, to navigate a white ethno-nationalist empire during a time when homosexuality (though lesbianism was never targeted explicitly in the laws) was punishable by exile, hard labor, and even imprisonment? We can only imagine, because that’s not Summerland’s game.

Summerland isn’t a dirge-like, finger-wagging history lesson like The Imitation Game. Nor is it bright, confectionary, period-set escapism like Autumn de Wilde’s recent adaptation of Emma. It’s somewhere in between, more akin to Jonathan Levine’s Long Shot, which embraces contemporary cultural politics without really getting into them. The result is a kind of guilt-free indulgence in classical Hollywood narrative constructs, made possible not by inverting or deconstructing them, but by simply updating who gets to negotiate their terms. This sounds like criticism but I for one am fully on board. Long Shot was one of my favorite movies of last year, and Summerland is one of my favorite movies this year so far. There is a place for escapism with an ethical backbone. More than ever, we need to be able to relax under the spell of fantasists we can trust not to poison us with irony or distort history to suit their ideology. Spoiler alert, but Summerland has a happy ending. Would you expect that from a period film with an interracial lesbian couple at its center? You wouldn’t, but wouldn’t you like to?

copyright © 2020 Ryan Christopher Coleman