#the darlington legacy

[kimosims]

The heir to the Darlington family was born! Welcome to the world, Rowan Miles Darlington, the apple of his parents' eyes.

His arrival marked a moment of pure joy, and he quickly became the center of attention in the Darlington household.

[aheathen-conceivably]

New Orleans, 1924

“Good Morning, mi raccomando.”

Josephine bolted awake as though the words were an alarm clock. There were calls to make, men to cajole, artists to placate. The voice could only mean that she had slept in and no one had been there to wake her up. After all, it had been her and only her apartment for over four years. Four years of it smelling like the gardenia perfume she wore and the open bootleg whiskey bottles cooking in the New Orleans heat from the party the night before.

She still wasn’t used to it smelling like fresh herbs and men’s cologne drifting from the well folded shirts on her dresser…🎶

But he was there because he knew that, because from the very first moment they had seen each other nearly three years before, it was as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Like a chain reaction that can’t be stopped once it's begun, they had fallen at nearly light speed through the frenetic haze of after parties and illegal booze into an unexpected domesticity that was uncharacteristic of them both.

Maybe if they had known what it would become all those years later, it would have been enough to send them both running. But in that moment, there was no way either of them ever could have, and with one glance, it was too late.

Through the unceasing roar of improvised piano keys, time seemed to be demarcated only by their meetings. At first neither of them had any expectations of the other; they rotated around eachother like satellites, moving through the same circles and parties with an ease that made it feel as though life would always be that way.

Only the crowds seemed to shrink in on them when the other was there, until even the sounds of dancing heels and clinking beer bottles began to feel intimate. And no matter how many parties went by, they ended each and every one together, until eventually, the stranger next to them at daybreak was no longer a stranger.

But surrounded by humid sunshine, neither of them could have identified the moment that they went from two people driven by lust to something more; or maybe they simply didn’t want to. After all, why slow down to question something that just felt right? Maybe that would have ruined it, or maybe, once again, they would have realized that time was carrying them onward into something that neither of them was ready for.

Because as it turned out, falling in love was easier than either of them had ever expected it to be.

Maybe it was because for so long, it felt like he needed nothing more than her, and he seemed to fall into her life like something she had never even known she wanted.

Initially, there were no games and no lies, no difficulties in just how quickly he accepted how totally he had fallen into her orbit. For a while, it made her willing to do the same. Through it all, he never faltered or responded to her impulses with nervousness or trepidation like others did. She had never met anyone else who could roll from one party to the next like he could, or who was just as excited by life as she was. It was infectious - he was infectious, and whether or not she would ever realize it, the simplicity of his joy afforded her more vision than she had ever even had herself.

And all along he knew what she herself still questioned in the dead of night - she was fearless. When she was near he felt like he could live forever, or like she had included him in some conspiratorial plan that the rest of the world knew nothing about. But more than anything, she made him feel alive.

Like being sucked into a vortex, every one of his molecules seemed to contort around her when they were together. Even the way she spoke mystified him. The lights in her eyes were just as vibrant as the words coming out of her mouth. Because deep down, she believed in something better, some star that would always be just out of view, and it made him feel as though maybe he could to catch it too.

As the years passed, she began to realize why he felt different than anyone else she had ever been with - he made her feel safe. She didn’t have to search him to see how he felt; and despite everything she had been taught, he didn’t just want to use her for his own pleasure. He was gentle and kind, and every time she was around him her heart soared. Until eventually, almost tearfully, she realized that she was in love with him, and her apartment would never smell the same again. 

So after a momentary realization that his voice was no alarm clock and the lingering smells were no phantom, she didn’t fight them. Instead she smiled back at the warm look of love she had come to expect. “It’s Sunday, mi raccomando. You don’t have to worry about work today.”

She could have told him that musicians and politicians took no days off, not even in reverence for the Lord. But she didn’t want to, so she stretched out in bed and let him carry the breakfast tray to her. “No one told me this is what living in sin would be like. Breakfast every Sunday. You in whatever bits of clothing you can find.”

His eyebrows shot upward, a false look of indigence feigned on his face for the sake of her smile. “Every Sunday? That’s a big assumption that I’ll be here each and every time.”

She pushed the tray away with her foot and moved between his legs. “Won’t you then? Stay with me. Live here. I know you practically already do but will you in truth? I don’t want you to ever leave. Not when we can be like this.”

His answer came in hurried kisses and forgotten breakfasts one Sunday after another for months. Month after month surrounded by gardenia perfume and young love, the air free of the regrets and resentments that they didn’t know were waiting for them just around the bend.

But time is unstoppable. It moves like an ever-flowing river, shaping and changing the trivial lives that stand in its path. Months became years, and little by little, his unwavering presence became merely a given rather than a revelation.

All the while the world kept spinning, determined to dim the stars in her eyes that he had once brightened. As it did, she began to realize that she could climb back up on the pedestal it kept knocking her down from by simply putting him beneath her. One morning after another, until finally, the last star went out, and the fearlessness he had once admired molted into a hardened shell that he couldn’t break through no matter how many breakfasts he cooked or questions he asked. Then the coffee began to go cold not from their shared tenderness, but from the new realization that the embers of their attraction could be stoked from rage just as easily as they had once been from softness.

Because all along, what neither of them realized, was that falling in love would always be the easiest part.

Little by little, he was the one who began to feel time draining like sand in an hourglass. Because as the world fell apart around them, he realized that no matter how long his shirts had been in her room, the suffocating smell of gardenia perfume never abated. There was no place for him there - trapped in the orbit of a woman who would never let him in, doomed in a city where every respectable citizen shirked from his name.

So he took a gamble. A series of gambles, really. The first had seemed certain. The promise of The West - a place where a man could go to make himself, to reinvent his past and build a corner of the world that was his and his alone. How could he have known that the cruel dominos of history were lining up behind him?

But he had always known that the second bet was riskier. He had wagered his own heart against the house, risking it all on the hope that if he left he would be able to chase the stars in his eyes rather than forever following the ones in hers. He had gambled on the thin chance that he could run from the smell of gardenia perfume; and that maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards exactly right, then he would see her again. Except when he did, he would be the one sitting at the head of the table, his heart safe from the roulette wheel and content with the surety that she would never walk out on him again.

New Mexico, 1936

When Gio awoke, the air was drier than he expected it to be. Before he could even fully open his eyes, one name was already on the tip on his tongue. “Jo? Mi raccomando?”

But there was no answer. The door was open wide and her suitcases were gone. He knew that meant she was still on the road, or that maybe it was time for him to finally admit that she was never coming home. That's why it was better in the warm, humid air of New Orleans in 1924. So he closed his eyes and rolled over to the other side of the bed.

Because even though falling in love was the easiest part, it was also the hardest to forget.

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[a-mythologynerd]

The thing about Darlington is at first glance he seems so much more tame and straight laced in comparison to Alex, and, like he is to an extent, but its all about the packaging. (And isn't that the thing between these two anyways from the very start?) I just always get reminded how many of his character traits aren't some dignified or morally superior dichotomy to Alex and her ruthlessness. The thing is, Darlington is just as ruthless and ambitious, he just didn't have to confront it until Hell. The desperate, starving, consumption motif is so clear from Alex's very first chapter but it's not til later that you realize Darlington is the exact same way, just about things other than the extreme level of survival Alex had to endure. Instead, Darlington was able to scrap by and keep the legacy going, serving something and keep the roof over his head. It makes it less obvious then that he is also a survivor and has that same drive.

You can especially see it in the way he tries to prep himself (the exercises, the learning, the training) for the long awaited "grand adventure," the way he treats his study of the arcane (I mean seriously, you cannot paint that boy as the lawful good archetype if he decided to devote himself into brewing a mythic possibly fake archaic drink that might MIGHT let him see the great beyond just because he had to believe there was more to this life, he had nothing left to lose, and he just had to find out and couldn't be satisfied with only some instead of all), and even more clearly, the dream vision he is granted in Hell. Dawes gets a dream of academic success, Turner professional success, Darlington has a dream where his house is never empty and there is always more people, knowledge, and he finally knows the secrets of every mystery in the world. He just hides all this better. He has the polish, the East Coast rich vs LA rich, and the austere Puritanical upbringing that makes him seem as Alex puts it, "expensive." But the reason these two work (and the reason I am insane about it) is because of this shared character trait of never being satisfied and always wanting more (what's really interesting is Alex seems to want more comfort and security and Darlington wants more risk and adventure and that's what drives the conflict). I'm drawn to the parallel someone on here once said about how Darlington is a sword and Alex is a cannonball. Same effect just different methods. Different packaging. Add in the questions of who is the rabid dog, who is the soldier, the servant, the monarch, Dante, Virigil, Beatrice, Orpheus, and Eurydice? I just love how these two characters seem SO diametrically opposed at first glance but are actually so alike in childhood, character, and ambition.

[wingedshadowfan]

Darlington’s fate is highkey terrible… he’s half demon and leashed to a girl forever. Maybe deep down he wants that in a kinky way but 💀

for real, darlington is such a tragic character.

searching for the arcane ever since he was a kid, training for something more that he can't even see, the parents who literally didn't want to parent him and tried to freeze him out of black elm, the conservative and kinda abusive grandpa who turned sick and paranoid and asked an underage danny to mercy kill him (and he did it), living by himself and scraping by until he made the hiram elixir without any knowledge of or guidance by the societies and was found passed out hours later by a mailman on the stairs of the house he'd fought with his everything to keep.

sandow appears at his hospital bed, offers him the key to everything he's ever wanted, and danny becomes darlington. he becomes dante. then he becomes virgil. somewhere inbetween he embodies lethe. he'd been going through the dante applications when sandow called in and basically said, "hey, we went ahead and recruited someone who was born able to do what you've always wanted to do and almost died trying. here's her file."

and we know alex's history - that file is incredibly fucking concerning to say the least. and darlington tries, he really tries to make her feel at ease, to make everything easy and digestible for her, and what does he get? the aurelian ritual blows up in his face and he has to lie to defend the lethe delegation. he learns why and begins to understand alex, but he's still ill-equipped to deal with someone like her, someone who's been through so much. then the halloween party at manuscript, a complete shitshow of getting drugged, practically assaulting his dante under the influence, but also seeing himself as a knight in the mirror with a sword in his back, seeing alex as queen mab. understanding it and yet not knowing what it means throws him in for a loop. he starts to figure alex's mysterious past out, but even more than that, he incidentally starts to figure the nexuses out, and sandow can't afford him to. getting swallowed by the hellmouth while alex lets it happen is one thing, blaming himself for it all is another.

a whole year of rebuilding black elm in hell, torturing and getting tortured, and crying out to alex, because no one else can hear him (and who could know his soul?) and he's somehow connected to her of all people, the puzzles and the games, the murders, being spat out both man and monster . having killed his parents and trying to come to terms with not being able to not love them despite all they've done. now also being chained to alex for life in servitude, finding out his virgil didn't even like him, going back to hell with the intention to surrender himself, escaping but accidentally indirectly propping the door to hell open, his grandpa's gray still talking about legacy after everything he's sacrificed, finding said virgil's body in his car trunk. GOD.

this guy has never caught a damn break. he's 23. his future is already fucked up, he's a beast on a leash and a beast of a different kind seems to be holding the other end of it. and he doesn't mind, of course he doesn't: alex is his gentle ruler, his monstrous queen, a horrid girl who carried his soul out of hell. and now they're going to send back everything that slipped out. together.

[vintagesimstress]

Zelda's 1925 Wedding Dress

Happy New Year everyone!

I woke up today and thought that a beginning of a new year is a good moment to finally release this dress, which has been sitting in my WIPs forever. Something new for a change: a wedding gown inspired by a rl one from 1925. It was originally made extra for Zelda Darlington from @aheathen-conceivably's Darlington Legacy, hence the name - and Heathen was so kind to let me release it to public. So here you go!

As always: Base Game compatible, HQ compatible, properly tagged, custom thumbnails, chronological CAS positioning, specular, bump maps etc. Comes in 2 versions: with and without train; you can use both.

Only one swatch this time, sorry! Feel free to recolour.

Warning: compared to my usual pieces this one is extremely high poly. Slightly over 30K (!!!). Or slightly below for the no-train version. The main culprit is this little beauty:

You know your own PCs and their capacities best. Use with caution.

(A little behind the scenes comment: this dress was also me experimenting with so-called 'blender sewing', which is a very different cc-making method than my usual one. Therefore, as you might see, the result also looks different from my usual style. Much more alpha. I absolutely don't hate it, but I guess some people might, whoops).

For more in-game photos, check the post with Zelda's wedding on Heathen's tumblr!

I hope you'll like it. Enjoy!

DOWNLOAD (free on Patreon, no ads or EA)

PS. That model I used is not the real Zelda. I just tried recreating her and then stole her for my own legacy ��

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

What is it about Darlington being animalistic that you find uninteresting? I hope this question makes sense

It is in part about what the story set up. He’s called a “Gentleman Demon,” there are implications that he’s turned into something cruel and arcane. He’s left puzzles for them, and advises on a supernatural murder with riddles, etc. The series itself is about like. the evils of institution and the false faces of legacy, and wealth, how predatory they are. Having him just be randomly bloodthirsty sometimes but otherwise nice and himself feels like a shying away from what’s already been set up, both thematically, and for his character. It’s a much more complex problem if he’s fully cognizant but warped beyond recognition. Especially if basically a demon has fully possessed and consumed him, and what exists of his personality is entirely vestigial (obligatory: or so the demon thinks and there’s grappling with that) The narrative set this up. Explicitly! I’m not making this up just because I thought it would be interesting!

Setting up a genuinely difficult and layered scenario and then doing something much simpler is inherently going to be boring to me. Additionally I think “man must subdue his Urges” is just incredibly stale territory. And on a personal taste level I just… don’t like it. It does nothing for me!

I have personal interest in explorations of calm and controlled cruelty, characters with skewed and specific moral frameworks presented unflinchingly. So stuff about characters fearing a loss of control and doing harmful things in that moment are boring to me! Especially when it feels like it’s a way to remove culpability and keep them from being too morally ambiguous— which imo is very much the case with Darlington

[kyriat-sims]

Do you have the Patch-day blues?

Patch-day blues: Game not working. Mods not working. S4S not working. Discord help unavailable. It sucks.

Cry unstoppable under your blanket -> Does not help and gives you a wet blanket and red eyes

Drink a lots and lots of wine -> Does not help and gives you a headache

Go for a long walk -> Does not help but you might feel refreshed. Or exhausted.

Kick your computer really hard -> Does not help and your toe will probably hurt

Read a Sims story on tumblr -> Does probably not help either, but you will have a nice time, and maybe feel inspired. Which is a good thing for when things are back to normal. (Because it will be. Soon.)

Reading suggestions under the cut!

Here are some interesting stories. Some I've already read, and some are on my reading list. I'm sure you will like them too.

The Royal Thornolia Chronicles - @theroyalthornoliachronicles

The Darlington Legacy - @aheathen-conceivably

Gosnoll Ancestry - @sims-half-crazy

The Sewell Legacy - @antiquatedplumbobs

The Curse of the Damned - @inlovewithregencyera

The Langston Legacy - @pixelnrd

The Way We Were - @funkyllama

The Mendoza Legacy - @heartblobs

Sophie of Rostock Story - @royaltysimblr

The Ambroise Legacy - @scythesms

If that isn't a long enough list for you, have a look at this site with even more suggestions:

The Sims story Archive

Now, think about how lucky you are. While you are reading these marvelous stories, some modders are working really hard with updating your favorite mods. Bless them!

💖*Hugs!*💖

[kindred-sims]

Inspired by @aheathen-conceivably and the Darlingtons , I will be doing music playlists for each generation of the Barclay legacy. ☺️ Consider it a soundtrack if you will!

I may end up featuring some of these songs in posts, maybe. Who's to say I haven't used one already? 😉

[historybunnny]

Thank you for tagging me @moonfromearth, you sweetheart you 🩷

3 ships: Aemma x Leoric from @rinseesims' UDC on YouTube, Jo x Gio from The Darlington Legacy by @aheathen-conceivably, & obviously Winifred x Lawrence from my own story.

Last song: Well, I'm currently listening to Script of the Bridge by The Chameleons (a very underrated, amazing post-punk group from the 80's), so whatever the last song is from that by the time I post this.

Last film: Oppenheimer

Currently reading: I've been rereading Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre recently after getting it on Audible.

Currently craving: A thick alfredo pasta with chicken & veggies 😋

Fave color: Pink 🩰 Red 🥀 and Black 🖤

Relationship status: I'm engaged! uwu 🌠🌠🌠

Last Thing Googled: "Sims 4 Ladder CC"

Current obsession: My pixels tbh! They're rotting my brain

I tag: @surely-sims, @rinseesims, @aheathen-conceivably, @antiquatedplumbobs, @thebramblewood, @kieraplaysthesims, @vampire-plays-sims @applesaucesims & anyone else who wants to do it (just say I tagged you!)

[cars-cause-why-not]

Want to take a moment to shout out my guy Erik Jones.

He started 40th (dead last) after not being able to complete qualifying cause of some sensor issues and was battered and beaten all throughout the race and still managed to finish 17th.

Hell, he got wrecked in that last caution when Berry flipped but was still able to keep going even with some significant damage.

It’s races like these that show why I’m an Erik Jones fan and it’s similar to his 2020 Busch Clash win. He went through hell and back, getting caught up in wreck after wreck, but he still managed to keep going.

Sure, he didn’t win like in 2020, but he still managed a respectable finish, especially in Legacy equipment.

And yes, I should congratulate his crew on doing a good job on fixing the damage.

And yes, I’m still holding out hope that Erik can win Darlington.

[tonyfm]

"My Football Manager Journey: A Legacy of Clubs Managed (2005-2024)"

"From the humble beginnings of managing lower league teams to conquering the top leagues, my Football Manager journey has been nothing short of spectacular. Here's a nostalgic look back at all the clubs I've had the pleasure of managing from 2005 to 2024."

France 🇫🇷

Football Club des Girondins de Bordeaux

Association Sportive de Monaco Football Club

Paris Saint-Germain Football Club

Racing Club de Lens

Germany 🇩🇪

Fußball-Club Bayern München e. V

Ballspielverein Borussia 09 e. V. Dortmund

Düsseldorfer Turn- und Sportverein Fortuna 1895 e.V

Italy 🇮🇹

Football Club Internazionale Milano

Associazione Calcio Firenze Fiorentina

Netherlands 🇳🇱

Sparta Rotterdam

Portugal 🇵🇹

Vitória Sport Clube

Sport Lisboa e Benfica

Sporting Clube de Portugal B

Sporting Clube da Covilhã

Clube de Futebol "Os Belenenses"

Associação Desportiva de Manteigas

Sporting Clube Celoricense

Leixões Sport Club

Russia 🇷🇺

PFC CSKA Moscovo

Saudi Arabia 🇸🇦

Al-Hilal Saudi Football Club

Scotland 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

Celtic Football Club

Spain 🇪🇸

Futbol Club Barcelona

Athletic Club

Turkey 🇹🇷

Beşiktaş Jimnastik Kulübü

England 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

Swansea City Association Football Club

Arsenal Football Club

West Bromwich Albion Football Club

Chelsea Football Club

Manchester City Football Club

Darlington Football Club

Leicester City Football Club

"Football Manager has been more than just a game for me; it's been a journey filled with triumphs, challenges, and endless hours of fun. As I look forward to the future editions, I can't wait to see which clubs I'll manage next and the new stories that will unfold."

[kimosims]

The winter air was sharp and clear, crisp with a touch of frost that painted the garden in a delicate shimmer. Florence pulled her coat a bit closer around her shoulders, glancing toward Albert, who sat beside her on the old stone bench that overlooked their snow-dusted landscape. He had insisted, almost pleaded, for her to remain indoors, worried about the chill lingering in her frail state. But Florence, with her subtle gentle stubbornness, had persuaded him otherwise; she knew that once she shared her news, he’d likely forbid her from stepping outside until she was either fully recovered from this illness or until their child was born—whichever came first.

Albert was recounting the details of his newest project with animated pride, his gaze shining as he spoke of the goods being prepared for the Duke von Baden. Florence listened, nodding and smiling at all the right places, but today, it was only half genuine. Her heart beat anxiously beneath her composure, and she felt herself sinking into a sea of uncertainties with each breath she took. She was often reminded of the early days of their courtship, the way Albert had once pursued her, words soft and full of warmth, trailing her through that summer garden with a gentleman’s grace. And though he remained a devoted husband, years of marriage had placed a quiet distance between them. She, too, was absorbed with the rhythm of managing the household and their children, while he poured himself into his art to provide for them, each absorbed in their responsibilities, growing in parallel yet at times apart.

As she stole a sideways glance at him, her thoughts spiraled: What if he didn’t receive this well? What if this child, whom she already felt a rush of love for, was welcomed with less excitement than their others? What if they didn’t have enough for the renovation? What if… Her worrying train of thought faltered, interrupted by the gentle, concerned voice beside her.

“My love?” Albert asked, eyes soft and searching her face. “Are you feeling unwell? I knew we should have stayed inside.”

Florence shook her head, managing a small smile. “No, no, dear, it’s not that,” she reassured him softly. Her hand sought his, fingers tightening around his familiar warmth. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I… I have something to tell you.”

Albert leaned closer, his entire attention fixed on her. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the moment, then exhaled the words she had held close to her heart. “Albert, I’m expecting our fifth child.”

His eyes widened, filling with the kind of joy she hadn’t seen in them for what felt like years. Before she could finish her sentence, he was beaming, his hands enveloping hers as he showered her with a flurry of delighted kisses, tender yet filled with energy and care. Her heart melted as she laughed, mirroring his happiness, the relief so overwhelming it brought a rush of tears to her eyes.

“Are you certain this is good news?” she asked.

“I can hardly imagine anything better than this, my love!” He took her hands in his, giving her such a genuine look of joy that it left her breathless. She blinked, trying to still her happy tears, feeling lighter than she had in days.

“But, and the house?” she murmured, worry creeping into her voice again. “We’re running out of space. The girls… they’re growing up so fast. And Daisy will soon join them, leaving little room left for Rowan…”

Albert’s gaze softened, and he reached up to brush a stray tear from her cheek. “We’ll find a way. We always do.” He smiled, warm and reassuring. “Florence, my dear, I never want to be a source of worry for you. I know this won’t be easy, and it’s time we think about proper help for the household. But that’s something I’ll take care of.”

Florence shook her head, placing a hand over his. “Not alone, Albert. It’s a concern for both of us.”

He nodded, and they sat in the quiet of the garden, the pale winter sun casting a gentle light over them. “I love you,” he whispered, the warmth of his words a promise that seemed to chase away the cold around them.

“And I love you,” she replied, her voice barely above a breath.

[aheathen-conceivably]

A few hours drive from Strangerville, in the shelter of an abandoned horse pasture, the Lou Dufour Circus had hoisted their tents as if by magic. They spent the late summer months there, drawing a nearly never-ending stream of visitors to their show night after night. Lured by the the promise of forgetting their worries for one fanciful night, people came from all corners of the West, traversing along the route that ran through the region’s heart like a life-giving artery.

Come Fall, when the desert nights grew too cold and the townsfolk had given what little coin they had to spare, the tents would disappear as quickly as they had arrived, gone south to Florida where they would spend the winter months. Then the horse field was left abandoned once more, the well-worn pathways of a thousand hurried footsteps the sole reminder of the magic that had been there only weeks before.

Only to Violette, none of it seemed temporary. How could it be? How could mere mortals fold and package infinite yards of canvas like a rabbit hidden in a magician’s hat?

How could they balance knives and tame lions? How could they make the desert night shine so brightly that you couldn’t even see the darkness anymore? Only stars above made of artificial light that were even brighter than the ones in the sky. Stars that made you feel like you were shining too - shining like all of these lights and this magic that had sprung from the dry ground where nothing grew. Especially not magic. 

It seemed as though just like Oz, it was a city crafted out of wonder and illusion alone, somewhere between the things she had seen in her dreams and what she knew was possible.

Maybe even more amazingly, she soon realized, was that she had yet to see even a portion of this Oz’s magic. If outside the tent had been enchanting, it was nothing compared to the wonder hiding beneath the big tented red fabric jutting from the center of it all. 

One act after another wowed them. Strong men and lion tamers, acrobats and jugglers, each of which elicited cheers or laughter or gasps of awe from the audience. When Violette could tear her eyes away from the performers, she liked watching the people in the audience almost as much as the acts themselves.

There was something in the crowd that was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Like a rising tide that had picked them up and carried them together, their cheers crashed onto her ears like waves, amplified beyond any one voice or singular emotion. It was all-consuming, intoxicating even, and yet she wasn’t even the one in the center of it all. What those performers must have felt like in the spotlight, surrounded by the ripples they had created, echoing through the audience one by one until they rolled back down on them as waves of adoration and thunderous applause.

Yet none of it compared to the moment an aerialist descended from the center of the tent, her arms extended and the silk of her outfit shimmering as though she held all the stars in the sky within herself. Even Violette pulled herself away from the faces of the crowd to stare at her. Their laughter and cheers had ceased, leaving only a silent and suspended wonder hanging in the air. The woman floating above held them all captivated as they waited for her to move, and she allowed them time to observe every ounce of her beauty before she amplified it with a single movement of her delicate hand.

Violette had never seen anything like it, had never seen someone captivate so many people and look so beautiful except for…

She turned to her side, where her mother’s profile was staring at the aerialist in wonder as she began her routine. Except for her, magnetic and free as she shined like a star in the night on that stage all those years ago. Now there she sat, watching another, the light within her dim by comparison, but clear for Violette to see. 

On the other side of her profile Violette saw her father steal a glance in the same direction. The flashing circus lights shined across the crowd and onto her mother’s face, and in that moment Violette knew that her father could see it too - the light in her mother that she remembered from all those years before. It went beyond simple beauty, although she knew that would always be a part of it. But it was more than that - a sort of spellbinding talent that could be switched on for a crowd to see, captivating and magnetizing them all at once, or kept hidden like the candle of a precious flame for only a rare few.

High above them the aerialist flipped forward, hanging suspended above the hard ground below with only her hands. All at once the crowd took in a sharp gasp of fear, until her leg went toward the heavens and they went quiet once again.

Violette watched her every movement in awed silence. No. There was nothing hidden about her, nothing shy or reserved or precious. Only a sense of limitless adoration surrounding her like magic. Nearly every eye in the crowd was trained on her and only her, as though waiting for her permission to clap or breath or even move their eyes.

No that - that was what Violette wanted, to be at the center of the crowd without a care in the world other than their love. Because once she was surrounded by their eyes and their waves of wonder, she would never need anyone or anything else ever again. If she had that, then she would have everything.

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(All my gratitude to @historybunnny @doctorsimcraft and @surely-sims for their lovely sims, custom content, and build skills. I wouldn’t have completed this scene without yall ♥️)

[a-mythologynerd]

Alex Stern, Darlington, and Dante in Hell

DISCLAIMER: Okay so I'm realizing this post might have several parts as I'm only like half way through the Cantos and there are definitely more connections (i.e. Alex waking up on the second trip to Hell in the river of boiling blood and the 7th circle of Hell.) Also, people literally write whole ass academic articles about intertextuality and I do not have that much free time so if anyone is scholar of Dante please feel free to chime in. So. Also this is so long. I am both sorry and begging you to make the hours typing and looking into this worth it.

Okay, so as most folks know and probably connected, Dante's Inferno starts with:

"At one point midway on our path in life, I came around and found myself now searching through a dark wood, the right way blurred and lost" -Inferno, Canto 1, lines 1-3

and when Team Murder awakes they find themselves in a similar orchard:

"She looked up and realized she was staring through the branches of a tree, many trees. She was in some kind of forest... no, an orchard, the branches black and glittering and heavily laden with fruit, its skin darkest purple." -Hell Bent, pg. 271

Now this is also connected to the Tree of Knowledge by Dawes (pg. 272) and of course we get some Hymn of Demeter like pomegranates from the orchard of Hades that Persephone eats.

But Leigh Bardugo in her many connections of cthonic stories (love Darlington's line about who is Dante, Virgil, Beatrice, Orpheus, and Eurydice) is of course pulling directly from the Inferno in more ways than the opening. In Dante's Inferno, of which I am no expert, as Dante is being guided through the underworld by Virgil he passes through several circles of hell each focused on the punishment of a certain sin and sinner.

Now Darlington is trapped in Hell after being eaten by the Hell Beast, specifically because he mercy killed his grandfather and is therefore a murderer. But here's the thing. He's not punished for murder. He's sent to Golgarot who is a demon prince of greed.

"Turner tapped the book he was reading. 'You thought Darlington got eaten, right? By Mammon?' 'Maybe,' Dawes said cautiously. 'There are a lot of demons associated with greed. Devils. Gods.' Greed is a sin in every language. That was what Darlington had said. Sandow's hunger for money. Darlington's desire for knowledge." -Hell Bent pg. 311

Darlington is ambitious. This goes as far as his Hell vision from Golgarot. He doesn't dream of tenure or just a filled house or feeling like the hero. My guy dreams of being able to know everything ever in a never ending symposium where he also has traveled the world and absorbed the wisdom of mystics and scholars by simply touching them. That's not just ambition that drives someone to train and hone himself for adventures to come, that's greed. And his mortal soul's punishment is tragic and narratively fitting surrounded by the ruins of a legacy he has barely been keeping afloat with odd jobs and his bare hands:

"He had a rock in his hands, and as they watched, he lugged it over to what might have been the beginning or end of a wall and laid it carefully atop the other stones...He didn't stop moving, didn't alter his gaze...Darlington didn't break his stride, but Alex could see his chest rising and falling as if he was fighting for air. 'Please,' he gritted out. 'Can't...stop.'" -Hell Bent pg. 277

Except it's more than just narratively fitting. It's quite similar punishment for greed and avarice Dante describes in the 4th circle of hell where the guilty push stones or weights (depending on the translation) over and over again and do not speak to Dante and Virgil, other souls guilty of anger and melancholy babble nonsense. The Canto begins with Plutus, the Greek and Roman god of riches, wealth, and abundance, speaking nonsense words to Virgil and Dante. Virgil, a great speaker himself, responds in telling him to be silent and calls him a wolf. The Commentary in my translation by Robin Kirkpatrick discusses how Dante equates greed and the pursuit of specifically money as a pervision of intelligence. The lack of speech and inability to speak in contrast to Virgil is as Kirkpatrick puts it,

"Dante combines an irrepressible linguistic inventiveness with a profound sense that corruptions of mind and sensibility are directly reflected in corrupted applications of language, or in the lessening of a capacity for coherent thought and word...Intelligence here is reduced to the rolling of boulders, a subjection of mind and energy to mere materiality."- Commentary and Notes, pg. 341-342

And um. Yeah.

"Darlington had been frightening to the shades of the Veil and even to himself. It had been...If he was honest, it had been exhilarating. He had been a creature of the mind since he was a boy– languages, history, science. The rest of it, the training he'd put himself through–fighting, swordplay, even acrobatics– had all been in service to the future adventures he'd been sure he would have. But the great invitation had never come...And now? Was he human enough? He had been able to sit at the table and hold a conversation. He hadn't growled at anyone or broken any furniture, but it hadn't been easy. Demons were not thinking creatures. They operated on instinct, driven by their appetites. He had prided himself on being nothing like that. Never rash. Guided by reason. But now he wanted in a way he never had. He had been tempted to bury his face in his soup bowl and lap at it like a greedy animal. He wanted to place himself between Alex's legs now and do the same to her." -Hell Bent, pg. 414

and

"He had been prepared to speak, a quote from... His demon mind couldn't manage it. He remembered Alex with her book of poems. Hart Crane. He grasped at the words." -Hell Bent, pg. 465

But the connection doesn't stop there. Dante sees several beasts when he first enters the woods. They are warped versions of a leopard, a lion, and a wolf. One is a leopard who is often interpreted as a representation of lust, the other is lion for pride, and finally and most relevant to us, a wolf for greed. The wolf that Virgil calls Plutus. The wolves that guard Golgarot's realm that are not quite wolves. That chase our Team Murder and become their demons.

So. Long story short. Darlington and his demon form are not just a metaphor for beast like animal instincts of the inhuman. It's another reflection of greed and what in pursuing it and worshiping it, leaves one without human reason, speech, the mind. All things that define Darlington and he sees as integral to his personhood. Except his greed in pursuing those very things of knowledge and magic and wisdom and the unknown leave him with less than he started with. And its tragic and amazing and I need to read more analyses of Inferno and the rest of the Comedy and the third book needs to come out so we can see how else Leigh Bardugo combined the circles of hell and New Haven.

[wingedshadowfan]

listen i know darlington's parents quite literally "had no interest in parenting him" and just wanted his grandfather's money (and to sell black elm for more of it) so they abandoned him, leaving him to fend for himself, but we also shouldn't forget his grandpa was downright abusive!!

(...) but he’d been raised by his grandfather, Daniel Tabor Arlington III, who believed that most problems could be solved with cask-strength scotch, plenty of ice, and impeccable manners.

and you're still wondering why darlington has a drinking problem?

Church on Sunday, work on Monday. That was the Arlington way. When Darlington had turned thirteen and protested that he’d be happy to risk God’s wrath if he could just sleep in, his grandfather seized him by the ear and dragged him out of bed despite his eighty years. “I don’t care what you believe,” he’d said. “The working man believes in God and expects us to do the same, so you will get your ass dressed and in a pew or I will tan it raw.” Darlington had gone. And after his grandfather had died, he’d kept going.

ummm that's abuse?? bonus points for religious trauma

His grandfather would say, “Private schools turn out pussies. I’m not making that mistake again.”

this one just carries a very specific connotation/undertone about toxic masculinity

Darlington snorted. “You’re lying. What did he really say?” Alex shrugged and met his eyes. “That Black Elm needs you more than ever, that this is your home by right of blood and treasure, and a lot of rambling about the Arlington legacy.”

fuck that old man!

"(...) Your grandfather sold you a false bill of goods. He led you on just as he led us on. You think you’ll be some Lord of Black Elm? You don’t rule this place. It rules you. Take what you can from it now.”

darlington's mom was right for one thing, and that was it

[sleeppaw]

Something that doesn't make sense about Harry Potter

About The Hogwarts Express. According to She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Hogwarts Castle locomotive was built in 1827 at Crewe. Now, look at railway history:

1825: The Stockton and Darlington railway opens, the first public railway to use steam locomotives. (Two years before Hogwarts Express)

1827: The year Hogwarts Castle is built at Crewe (Two years before the Rainhill Trials, three years before the opening of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, thirteen years before Crewe locomotive works is established, seventy five year before the Great Western Railway standardises it's designs, ninety six years before the construction of the Castle Class, 110 years before Olton Hall's construction)

1840: Crewe Works is founded (Many steam locomotives that would run on the later LMS railway would be constructed here)

1890: The year Hogwarts Legacy takes place (The Hogwarts Express is shown to be a GWR Castle Class, despite said Class being thirty three years away from introduction. Plus the GWR was using broad gauge in 1890 and will do for another two years)

1902: The GWR Saint Class is introduced (The most notable features of the locomotives is their brass safety value bonnet and copper capped chimneys which would be found on subsequent GWR locomotives; served as predecessors to the Hall Class. In 2019 it went full circle, as 4942 Maindy Hall was converted from a Hall into a Saint named Lady of Legend; the first Hall Class was rebuilt from a Saint Class)

1908: The GWR Star Class is built (One locomotive from this class survives, Lode Star). The GWR would construct a locomotive, named The Great Bear, in this year (The Great Bear was the first 4-6-2 built in the UK, however, it was severely restricted. The locomotive would be the only 4-6-2 the GWR would operate, the locomotive being rebuilt into a Castle Class. The Great Bear would pave the way for the later LMS, LNER and Southern Railways to build their own Pacific Types, with the 4-6-2 even making their way down to 15 inch gauge)

1923: The GWR introduces the Castle Class (The introduction of the Castle Class would trigger a competition between the GWR and the Southern Railway to create the most powerful 4-6-0 locomotive). Flying Scotsman is built by the newly formed LNER (It would become the most famous steam locomotive in the world). River Esk is built on the Ravenglass and Eskdale Railway (River Esk would pave the way for the construction of a miniature main line)

1926: The Southern Railway introduces the LN Class (Snatching the title from the GWR)

1927: The GWR introduces the King Class.

1937: Olton Hall is constructed