#I feel like that was its intended purpose

[francesderwent]

so for the purposes of this discussion I’m going to assume that we all agree that it’s not a desirable state of affairs to be sexually intimate with a whole bunch of people just for fun. I know not everybody agrees with that *gestures vaguely to the sexual revolution and the hookup culture*, but if I have to prove that first then that’s going to take forever and I don’t think it’s what we’re talking about anyway.

we’re going to assume that our interlocutor believes sex and love do have something to do with each other, and wants to know why we shouldn’t treat sex the way that most television shows these days treat sex: like kissing on the lips. you’re in love with your boyfriend so you kiss him on the lips. and then you might break up, and fall in love again and kiss a new boyfriend on the lips. in certain circumstances you might kiss someone on the lips who isn’t your boyfriend, like if they save your life or you go through a bonding experience together or something. and eventually you get married to someone and you only kiss that guy on the lips from then on, but you have kissed a few other guys before and it’s not a big deal or a scandal at all. why, is the question, can’t we treat sex exactly the same?

so, point one is: because the whole physical world is infused with symbolic meaning, the human body speaks a language of its own. we don’t assign meanings to the “words”, they’re inherent and universal. you can’t twist bodily actions to mean whatever you want them to mean, they’re going to go on saying what they really mean whether you want them to or not. a slap does not mean love; its violence is not and cannot be loving. a kiss does not mean hatred; Judas betraying Jesus with a kiss adds an extra layer of hurt to his deception.

point two: in order to exist happily and healthily in the world, we need to speak the truth with our bodies, and not try to twist the language of the body into saying something it isn’t. when we lie with the body, the whole real world we live in resists us. we’re trying to impose our own meaning by our own will onto something that already has its own meaning, given it by God, and quite frankly, God’s meaning is stronger and it’s gonna win. think of this as living in a state of denial—even if you can stay in your denial for a little while, eventually, reality will have its say, it will make itself felt. more on this later.

point three: sex, as a word in the language of the body, is saying something other than just “I feel love for you”—i.e. it is saying something different than a kiss. how do we know this? first of all, sex causes bonding on a chemical level in a way that kissing absolutely does not! secondly, sex creates children—and therefore exists on a very different level than kissing! both of these differences point to this: kissing as a “word” speaks about love as desire, when it says “I feel love for you” it’s mostly saying “I want you”. sex as a word speaks something more, it says something in itself about a commitment which is forever. what sex is saying is “I give all of myself to you and I receive all of you in return, we belong to each other forever”.

point four: the only circumstances in which sex can be spoken truly is marriage. sex speaks in the body the same total commitment that is made in the marriage vows, reiterating and confirming the mutual gift that has already been given.

this is sort of where it gets tricky (and where I think TOB speakers often fail their listeners), because when you’re dating somebody, if you’re not being disingenuous and stringing them along until you find something better, you do hope that you’ll be together forever. and so the more you fall in love with someone, the more you naturally (and appropriately, I’d say!) want to have sex with them, because you want to be able to express your longing for that forever. you don’t intend to lie with your body! you want to say what sex says and make it true in the saying of it!

I think the usual Christian response is to say “ah yes, but that forever isn’t yet promised or guaranteed, so you don’t know if it’s ever going to come”. and as much as the person currently head-over-heels in love doesn’t want to hear it, unfortunately it is very real. for every Jack who meets his first serious girlfriend in college, has sex with her because he really wants them to be together forever, and then marries her six years later having had sex with no one but her, there’s just as many (if not more) Jill’s who meets her first serious boyfriend in high school, has sex with him because she really wants them to be together forever, then is blindsided by a breakup and goes on to repeat the pattern with several more boyfriends before she finally finds the “one”. it’s a tragically common story, so common that the trauma of it is becoming harder to recognize. but it causes severe emotional and psychological harm, to give all of yourself to a person hoping for the gift to be received, only to have your whole self be rejected, or trivialized, or used and discarded. it takes tremendous courage for Jill to pick herself up and believe in love again, and often she’s disappointed over and over again. even when the “one” does appear and the gift is finally received completely in marriage, the scars don’t fade completely. I think a lot of people who get their happy ending end up experiencing that phenomenon of psychological backdraft, all their old sexual traumas bubbling up again now that they finally have a healthy sexual experience to know how it should have been. they then have to spend the honeymoon years of their marriage healing from everything that came before. so the usual Christian guidance is “you don’t want to go into marriage with all that baggage, so better to wait just to make sure”.

and while I do think avoiding trauma is generally a good idea, I think this is a little bit of a cop-out. for one thing, it kind of seems to be saying “don’t have sex with your significant other, because you don’t really know if they’re telling the truth about wanting to marry you”—that is, it’s encouraging you to not trust your partner. sure (she said sarcastically), that sounds healthy!! there has to be a better, more loving reason not to have sex with a significant other before marriage. and it’s this: if the Church’s teaching about sex and marriage are really true, then it is just as wrong for Jack to have sex with his girlfriend before marriage as it is for Jill to have sex with her boyfriend—Jack’s eventual marriage to his girlfriend doesn’t retroactively validate every instance of premarital sex! and if Jack having sex with his girlfriend before they got married is wrong, then what we’re saying is it must be hurting them. even though their love story ended happily! even though they did end up giving and receiving the gift of self completely! getting things “out of order” is hurting them and making them unhappy. this is the burden of proof, and it’s much harder than proving Jill’s sexual history is hurting her. and yet if we believe Church teaching, it must be true!

so we return at last to my above point two—in order to exist happily and healthily in the world, we need to speak the truth with our bodies, and not try to twist the language of the body into saying something it isn’t. and here’s the kicker: we are not God. we cannot make a thing so just by saying it. so no matter how understandable it is to try to create a relationship that will last forever by speaking forever with our bodies, it simply does not work that way. when the word is spoken out of the context which makes it true (i.e. when you have sex outside of marriage), it does not and cannot bring that whole context into being—it doesn’t create a vow of fidelity, it doesn’t create a shared life, it doesn’t create a public commitment. someone can have sex with you and then break up with you, someone can have sex with you and then get in their car and go home leaving you there by yourself to sleep alone, someone can have sex with you and then pretend you don’t exist. the sex, on its own, doesn’t create a slippery slope that leads swiftly and inevitably to marriage. it just creates tension between the life you actually have, unmarried, and the unreal life you’re pretending you have in sleeping with one another. it makes all those parts of yourselves that you haven’t shared stand out more strongly, making you feel every little separation as a wound. and instead of creating a sense of peace and security, it leads to a kind of desperate grasping feeling—“we’re acting like us being together forever is a done deal, but it’s not a done deal, it’s not set in stone, so what can I do to make it work, how can I control this, how can I make him want me enough to stay?” even if in the end Jack proposes, the foundation of the relationship has been damaged. it can be healed, and rebuilt! but it is not good for a relationship to develop under that kind of strain. not good, and not necessary.

what’s the alternative? when you wait to have sex until marriage, your dating years with a partner can be years of expectantly looking forward in hope, while also living in the moment. you are not married yet—so your relationship is not set in stone, you’re still deciding what kind of relationship you want to have together, which means it can still get better and better as you build it. talk a LOT! talk about everything! talk about your pasts, talk about your dreams for the future! work out your issues in the present instead of covering them over with physical affection! because you’re not burdened by the anxious desperation to turn a lie into the truth, you will be able to see more clearly what the strengths and the weaknesses of the relationship really are, which allows you to address your weaknesses and work on them! and because you’re not pretending like you’re already totally committed, the prospect of actually making a total commitment will be more and more attractive. when you’re not trying to act like you’re married already, it’s so much easier to have open conversations about the future you want together, and easier to know when it’s time right now to take steps to get there. and that’s exciting! it’s fun to have stuff to look forward to, it’s fun to make plans together!

it’s not a better way because there’s less collateral damage, because you’re hedging your bets playing it safe just in case something goes wrong. it’s a better way because it’s all about letting love develop in its own time, according to its own internal laws. I’m not gonna say “guard your heart”, as if your significant other was an enemy at the gates. instead, “guard your relationship”, because it’s worth protecting, worth giving every chance to be as happy as it can be.

[thefirstknife]

Go off! It's the Cinemasins Effect. There is no literary analysis, just listing of facts like you're reading a Wikipedia summary. Devoid of accounting for personality traits, external influences, basic human (or alien) contradictory nature, unreliable narration (always present in Destiny), multiple points of view that are clashing (because that's how the world works), etc., these facts tell us little about the actual story so it's easy to misinterpret obvious solutions.

A listed fact might say "Eramis endangered her own house by opening the Vex portal on Europa" and then whenever Eramis talks about caring for her people, someone who engages with only the list might think "That makes no sense!" And it does, if we go deeper and account for her desperation and corruption and how much she did not understand what was happening to her. She desperately tried proving that she has agency, but it was the exact opposite; while fleeing from the Traveler claiming not wanting to be its pawn, she was actually the pawn of the Witness. She was used by the Witness to get us, the real target, to be tempted with stasis and the moment she lost (no longer worthy of being a part of the final shape), she was discarded. However, not entirely, because she still had to remain a pawn potentially to be used later when the Witness needs a convenient and desperate soldier to enact its plans under a threat of a total annihilation of her people; because that's what the Witness does. She literally commented on this, how the Witness is "punishing her" by turning her friends into Scorn.

But we never see even a fraction of this kind of analysis in the most popular circles and "lore masters" will always prioritise just listing events and doing "Ending EXPLAINED!" videos with zero character motivations or analysis mentioned. I won't even go into how much of Destiny story is obviously constricted by technical elements and the type of game it is, which is something people forget all the time and expect Destiny to suddenly have a singleplayer RPG level of game design which simply will not happen. A lot of the perceived faults in the narrative are almost always of technical nature and writers themselves have spoken about this. I feel like that has to be included in any analysis worth a damn because Destiny's story is trapped within the confines of the genre of media it is in (first person looter shooter); while the story is a major part of the game's essence, gameplay comes first, always. If the story has to be constrained for gameplay purposes, it will be. If it has to be constrained because there's not enough time or resources to add more dialogues or cutscenes or to expand the scope of every character or to create a more complex narrative, it will be. Given all of this, I think the team has done a great job for Eramis over the years and kept her arc as consistent as possible which made this ending easy to predict and satisfying because the arc has concluded as it was intended.

At the end of the day, I don't even mind if people have a personal reason to think "Actually I would never have forgiven Eramis." I'm sure there are characters in-setting who think that; either because of a lack of knowledge about her (if you're just some random citizen, you don't know the details of her corruption or her internal feelings) or because you were personally victimised by her (a lot of Eliksni fled House Salvation because of what she did on Europa that endangered their lives; they may never be ready to forgive her or accept her). That's completely fine. As a matter of fact, I expect it! It adds depth to the story.

The issue is that these people usually go about it by blaming the writers and saying that the writers told their own story wrong. That this decision was objectively incorrect or somehow bad for the narrative or a retcon or out of character or whatever. And it's just not. We, the players, who have all information and everyone's internal feelings presented in the story and lore books, know that this was the intended character arc for Eramis since the moment she didn't get killed at the end of Beyond Light.

Eramis Executors are up in arms that our favorite, bitter, lesbian crab didn’t receive a bullet to her head to no one’s surprise. What happened to the overarching themes involving forgiveness and mending the wounds of the past to build a better future for everyone resonating with people? Does the Traveler and what it has been representing for 10 years mean nothing when it comes to Eramis? Were we supposed to abandon the power of friendship? Is punishment with no consideration the only way of dealing with those who have committed wrong acts that people know of?

[hrizantemy]

Weeks turned into months, and somehow, against all odds, Nesta was… good. The word itself felt foreign, strange even, as if it didn’t belong in the same breath as her name. Good. She whispered it in her mind sometimes, testing its weight, its truth. It wasn’t perfection—far from it—but it was solid, steady. It was enough.

She found herself waking up without that familiar pit in her stomach, the one that had made every morning feel like a battle before it even began. The days no longer dragged her down into the darkness she’d come to know so intimately. She didn’t dread every hour that stretched ahead of her. Instead, she lived. She moved through her days with something she had almost forgotten—purpose.

It wasn’t some grand transformation. There were still bad days, moments where the shadows crept back in, whispering doubts and regrets into her ear. But they didn’t consume her anymore. She didn’t let them. On those days, she let herself feel the weight, but she also let herself move through it, knowing it would pass.

And, much to her own astonishment, she was happy. That word felt even stranger than good. Happy had always seemed like something meant for other people, for Elain with her gardens or Feyre with her perfect little family. But now it belonged to Nesta too. It was small, quiet happiness—found in the warmth of sunlight through her window, in the pages of a book that drew her into another world, in the sound of laughter shared with someone who didn’t expect her to be anything but herself.

Taryn had a way of appearing just when Nesta needed her most, though she would never admit it out loud. She didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t pry or prod, but her presence was grounding. They had developed an unspoken rhythm, a comfortable give and take. Taryn would knock on her door with a knowing smile and a bottle of that smooth liquid Nesta had come to enjoy, or drag her out to hear music at the tavern, or simply sit with her in the quiet of her small apartment.

Nesta found herself smiling more often, laughing even. It still caught her off guard sometimes, how natural it felt. It didn’t feel like she was pretending or forcing it, like she had in the past. This happiness was real, strange and fragile as it seemed. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself hold onto it. She let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she deserved it.

Nesta had found a job, though she wouldn’t have called it that at first. It was more out of spite than anything else, but spite was a good motivator, perhaps the best one she had. The idea had come to her in the middle of a tense conversation with Cassian during one of his visits—if they could even be called that. He’d offhandedly suggested that maybe she ought to “find something to do with herself” instead of wallowing. The words had stung, as they always did, but instead of snapping back, Nesta had steeled herself. Fine. She’d show him. She’d do something, if only to shut him up.

The bookstore was small, tucked away on a quiet street she hadn’t even noticed until she’d been wandering aimlessly one afternoon. The bell above the door jingled when she stepped inside, and the air smelled of old paper and faint lavender. Shelves were crammed into every corner, some leaning precariously under the weight of too many books. A frazzled-looking woman, with hair coming loose from its bun, had glanced up from the counter with a harried expression.

“Looking for something specific?” the woman had asked, though she didn’t sound like she had the time or patience for small talk.

Nesta, on impulse, had said, “I’m looking for work.”

The woman blinked, clearly taken aback. “You want to work here?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” Her tone had been sharper than she intended, but she didn’t backtrack.

The woman had studied her for a long moment, her gaze sweeping over Nesta as if measuring her worth. Then, with a sigh that sounded like reluctant relief, she’d muttered, “Fine. You’re hired. I need the help, and you’ve got the look of someone who won’t run off after a week.”

Nesta hadn’t known whether to be flattered or insulted, but she’d nodded and accepted anyway.

Now, she found herself standing behind the counter most days, the faint hum of activity from the street filtering through the windows. It wasn’t glamorous, and it certainly wasn’t a grand calling, but it was something. She sorted through piles of books, rearranged shelves, and rang up the occasional customer. The work was simple but steady, and that steadiness was a strange comfort.

The woman, Amina, didn’t ask questions. She didn’t hover or pry, which Nesta appreciated more than she could say. In return, Nesta found herself working harder than she thought she would. She’d never imagined herself in a place like this—surrounded by books, of all things—but the quiet was nice. It gave her something to focus on, something to do with her hands and her mind.

And though Nesta would never admit it, there was a certain satisfaction in it. Spite had gotten her in the door, but something else—something softer, more hesitant—was keeping her there. Amina had trusted her, even when Nesta hadn’t trusted herself, and that was a kind of kindness she hadn’t been expecting.

There was one other worker at the bookstore, a girl who looked younger than Nesta—probably in her early twenties. Her name was Elia, and she was pretty in a way that seemed effortless: soft brown curls that always framed her face perfectly, warm brown eyes that sparkled with every smile, and an energy that seemed boundless. Nesta had taken one look at her on her first day and decided she wouldn’t like her.

People who smiled that much, who carried themselves as though the world was something to embrace rather than endure, always grated on her nerves. Elia was the type of person Nesta would have avoided entirely in another life, too bright, too cheerful, too… good.

But Elia had taken a liking to her almost immediately. From the moment Nesta stepped behind the counter, Elia was there, talking.

“So, you’re the new help,” Elia had said with a teasing grin. “You don’t look like the bookish type, but hey, I’m not here to judge.”

Nesta had scowled at her, crossing her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Elia had just laughed, like Nesta’s irritation was amusing rather than intimidating. “Nothing bad! Just that you seem… sharp. You know, like you’re more likely to tell someone off than recommend a good romance novel.”

Nesta had bristled but didn’t respond. To her annoyance, Elia had stayed, leaning on the counter as though determined to peel back her layers. Over time, Nesta realized Elia wasn’t just talkative—she was genuinely kind, with a knack for finding the good in everyone.

“Want to grab lunch?” Elia would ask during their shifts, despite Nesta’s clipped responses.

“Need help with that stack?” she’d offer, even when Nesta was clearly managing fine on her own.

Elia didn’t seem deterred by Nesta’s cold demeanor. If anything, her persistence only grew, like she’d decided befriending Nesta was some kind of challenge. And though Nesta wouldn’t admit it, there was something disarming about the girl’s sunny attitude.

Elia was always smiling, always humming under her breath as she shelved books or rang up customers. She seemed to carry a little light with her wherever she went, and though it was irritating at first, Nesta couldn’t help but notice how it made the small bookstore feel a little less suffocating.

Sometimes, Nesta would catch herself watching Elia out of the corner of her eye, marveling at how someone could be so unguarded, so at ease in the world. It was baffling. And though she hated to admit it, maybe even a little enviable.

Despite Nesta’s sharp tone and pointed glares, Elia hadn’t been scared away. If anything, the girl’s persistence seemed to double with every cold response Nesta gave. For a while, Nesta thought she’d crack under the weight of Elia’s relentless cheerfulness, but the girl never wavered, always meeting Nesta’s barbs with that same easy smile.

So, begrudgingly, Nesta had decided to let her in—not fully, but enough to stop snapping at her during their shifts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, not really. It just… happened.

It started small: lunch on their breaks. Elia would nudge Nesta toward the staff room with a playful, “Come on, you have to eat,” and despite herself, Nesta would follow. At first, they ate in near silence, with Elia doing most of the talking as Nesta focused on her food. But slowly, the silences became less frequent, filled instead with quiet conversation about books they liked, customers they couldn’t stand, or the day-to-day monotony of work.

Then came the book recommendations.

“You should read this one,” Elia had said one afternoon, sliding a worn copy of The Secret Garden across the counter.

Nesta had raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a children’s book.”

“It’s more than that,” Elia insisted. “Trust me, you’ll like it. It’s about finding beauty in the unexpected. You’re into that sort of thing, right?”

Nesta had scoffed but took the book home anyway. And to her surprise, she read it.

Before long, their camaraderie spilled out of the bookstore. Soon after their shifts, they were walking together through the city, stopping at cafes for coffee or tea. It wasn’t anything formal or planned—just an unspoken routine that grew between them.

“Do you ever stop smiling?” Nesta had asked one evening as they sat in a small, bustling cafe.

“Nope,” Elia had said with a grin, sipping her tea. “But I’ll tone it down if it bothers you.”

Nesta had rolled her eyes but didn’t ask her to stop.

There was something disarming about the way Elia moved through life—bright and open, like she hadn’t learned to build walls the way Nesta had. It made Nesta feel a little lighter, even if she’d never admit it. Elia had a way of drawing her out, of coaxing her into moments of warmth she didn’t think she had left.

And though it was slow, almost imperceptible, Nesta began to realize that maybe letting someone in didn’t have to be as terrible as she’d always thought.

Nesta had never thought she’d make friends again. After everything that had happened, after the pain, the isolation, the walls she’d built around herself, she’d come to believe that the people she could trust were few and far between. She had her sisters, and that was enough. Friends were something people like her didn’t need.

But, somehow, Elia had slipped past those walls she thought were impenetrable. It wasn’t something Nesta had expected to happen, nor something she had planned for. At first, it was just… convenient. Elia was there, and she didn’t give up on her, no matter how much Nesta tried to push her away. Slowly, though, the exchanges had turned into something more. Something Nesta hadn’t realized she was missing.

It was the little things—those walks through the city, the spontaneous visits to the small cafes, the gentle teasing and the quiet moments where they simply existed in each other’s company. It wasn’t like anything Nesta had had before, not the toxic friendships of her youth or the false camaraderie she’d tried to form after her fall from grace. This was different, somehow softer, without strings attached.

But Nesta had never told Elia that. She hadn’t told her how much she appreciated the quiet persistence, the way Elia had never given up on her when most people would have. She hadn’t told her that she hadn’t expected to ever feel this way again.

Instead, she kept it locked away, hidden beneath layers of her sharp tongue and her guarded exterior. Because admitting it felt too vulnerable, too real. There was always that part of her, deep down, that feared being seen. Being cared for, in a way that mattered.

So, she kept her thoughts to herself, allowing the friendship to unfold without fully acknowledging it for what it was. The idea of opening up again, of letting someone in that much, was terrifying. But she couldn’t deny that she felt something—something more than she’d felt in a long time—and that scared her too.

And yet, every time Elia smiled at her, every time she made some quiet, offhand remark, it felt… right.

Nesta worked tirelessly, every day at the bookstore, taking on extra hours, and pushing herself harder than she thought she could. It was a quiet sort of determination that took root in her, born from a mixture of pride and the need to prove to herself that she could stand on her own. She didn’t need anyone’s help—especially not Cassian’s, especially not the weight of Rhysand’s favor hanging over her head.

The debts she’d owed, both in the form of alcohol she’d binged on to numb herself and the money she’d borrowed from Rhysand to cover it, were finally paid off. She did it slowly, scraping together enough to make the first payment, then the next, until she was free of it. It felt strange to be clear of that particular burden, but there was something else weighing on her now—a freedom that came with being independent. She wasn’t sure when she’d stopped resenting that debt and started using it as fuel, but now it was gone, and she didn’t have to owe anyone anything.

And then came the apartment. The cramped, dim space that had served as her sanctuary for months, but now felt more like a prison. It had never really been home—not after everything. It had been a place to hide, a place to fall apart. So, she left. She didn’t tell her sisters, not even Feyre. She knew they would worry, maybe try to convince her to stay close, try to check in on her, to keep an eye on her. And Cassian? Well, she certainly didn’t want him knocking on her door again, with that knowing look in his eyes, and that infuriating tone as he tried to “help” her, as though she couldn’t take care of herself. She didn’t want to deal with it, didn’t want him barging in, assuming that he had the right to manage her life when he couldn’t even handle his own.

Instead, Nesta rented a small, private flat. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. And she was damn proud of it. No more debts hanging over her head. No more constantly worrying about when someone would come to remind her of how she’d fallen. It was a place where she could breathe, even if the air still felt a little too thin. She didn’t expect anyone to understand, and she certainly didn’t want anyone to ask questions. She had no answers for them anyway.

The move had been easy—just a few things in a small suitcase and the most essential items. The books she’d been collecting over the months, the things she’d started to care about again, they went with her. She didn’t need the reminders of her past life, the way it felt to live under the same roof as people who had never truly seen her, never truly understood her. This was her new beginning. Even if it was only small, even if it was only for her.

And she didn’t say a word to her sisters. They’d find out eventually, when she was ready to let them in again. But for now, she needed the silence, the space to keep working, to keep pushing forward without anyone interfering. Without Cassian barging in.

She wasn’t sure if she was running from them, from her past, or from the very part of herself that she wasn’t ready to face again. But that night, as she locked the door behind her for the last time, she didn’t look back.

Taryn had helped her in more ways than Nesta had initially expected, though she didn’t admit it to herself at the time. When she’d found a new apartment, it had been bare, just like the one she’d left behind. The walls were empty, the floors felt too large and too cold, and there was only a mattress in the middle of the room—a grim reminder of how little she had. She hadn’t even realized how much it bothered her until Taryn casually suggested one evening that it was time to buy furniture.

“I’m coming with you,” Taryn had said. “No more living like you’re in a damn hotel.”

At first, Nesta had balked at the idea. She didn’t need help, she could manage it herself. She had no interest in filling the space with things she didn’t need. But Taryn had been persistent. Eventually, Nesta had given in. And, oddly enough, it hadn’t been as awful as she expected.

The two of them had ventured into the city one afternoon, and as they browsed through small furniture shops, Taryn had somehow made the experience feel lighter. She made the process bearable, even as Nesta couldn’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable in the bustling stores. Her head kept spinning with all the choices, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this would really make her feel better or just create another false sense of comfort.

When they reached the second-hand shop, Taryn had spotted a small couch and immediately suggested it. “It’s perfect for you. Cozy and practical, just like you need,” she had said, grinning. But Nesta had hesitated, unsure if this was really what she wanted.

It had been Elia, of all people, who came to the rescue. Taryn admitted, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that her own apartment was sparse, that she didn’t know much about decorating, and that she needed help picking things out for Nesta. Elia, who always had a bright and energetic way of looking at things, had volunteered immediately. The two of them had met up at the store, and Elia had taken the reins without hesitation.

To Nesta’s surprise, Elia had a keen eye for interior design. She picked out colors that suited the space, offered suggestions for arranging the furniture, and even found a few small decorations that added life to the room. It was strange—she had never expected Elia to be the one to turn this mundane task into something almost enjoyable. The way Elia had seamlessly fit into the process, giving advice and showing her how to make the place her own, made the experience feel less foreign, less like a duty, and more like something that could actually be done.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Nesta had allowed herself to truly feel at ease. There was no judgment in the air. The stress that had lingered in the back of her mind started to melt away, replaced by something unexpected—gratitude, maybe even comfort. Taryn’s presence had always been a quiet support, and Elia’s unexpected skill at decorating had helped guide them both in a way that Nesta could appreciate. It had been a reminder that not everything needed to feel like a battle.

By the end of the day, Nesta had a couch, a small dining table, a few chairs, and a rug to soften the floor. The space didn’t feel so hollow anymore. It didn’t feel like she was just passing through; it felt like hers. It felt like something she had created.

Later, after they’d loaded everything into her apartment, Taryn had sat on the couch with her, and Elia had been the one to break the silence, offering an unexpected compliment.

“You’re really good at making a space feel like a home, Nesta,” Elia had said.

For a moment, Nesta had felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through her. She hadn’t been sure if she was capable of that, if she even deserved to make a home for herself. But in that moment, she allowed herself to believe it.

It had felt strange to open up, to offer even a small part of herself. Nesta had spent so long guarding her secrets, holding everything inside, never giving anything away. She had been terrified that if she shared too much, she would be exposed, vulnerable, and it would only lead to more rejection, more pain.

But there, sitting on her new couch with Taryn and Elia, something shifted. It wasn’t the same as it had been with her family—there was no pressure, no expectation. They weren’t looking at her like she was a broken thing that needed fixing, and they weren’t judging her for the things she couldn’t control. Taryn, always quiet and steady, had never pushed, and Elia had simply been there, warm and understanding, in her own way.

It had started with something small, something easy—a fragment of her past, a single memory she had buried deep inside. She had told them about the Cauldron, how it had changed her, how it had made her into something else, something that didn’t fit in anywhere. About being made Fae, about the pain it had caused her, and how it had left her with scars that no one could see.

She had even told them about the bathtubs, something that had never quite felt right after the change. She had tried to avoid it, to force herself, but the discomfort still lingered, a constant reminder of what she’d lost.

It had been a small piece of herself, just a fragment of her past, but it had felt different when she said it aloud. There was no judgment in Taryn’s eyes, no disbelief in Elia’s. For the first time in a long time, she hadn’t felt like the world was collapsing around her, like she was carrying a burden that no one else could understand.

It had been strange, letting them in, but somewhere in the pit of her stomach, Nesta had realized that maybe, just maybe, this was what it felt like to have friends. To feel seen without being judged. To share something of herself without the fear of it being used against her.

And as she sat there, letting the words settle between them, she knew she had given them something important. A piece of her that she had never shared with anyone else. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Taryn had been the one to bring it up, a quiet suggestion one evening after they had finished dinner together. “I know someone who could help,” she had said, a flicker of hesitation in her voice. “He does this kind of work. A friend of mine. It might be easier than you think.”

Nesta had hesitated, as always. The idea of someone else seeing her, seeing the scars she carried from the Cauldron, felt wrong. She had lived with the discomfort for so long, had forced herself to manage, to adapt. But Taryn’s persistence had eventually worn her down, and after a few more gentle nudges, Nesta had agreed—though reluctantly.

The next day, they met with Taryn’s friend, a man who was quiet and kind. There was no judgment in his gaze, no probing questions. He didn’t need an explanation. That was the most important thing. He simply saw her as a person, someone who needed help, and that was all. No further inquiries, no unwelcome sympathy.

Instead of a bathtub, he had suggested a shower. Something simpler, more manageable for Nesta, something that wouldn’t bring the same sense of unease that had haunted her. The space was clean, comfortable, and the man had worked quickly, efficiently.

When the work was done, Taryn’s friend hadn’t asked for anything extravagant. Instead, he gave her a discount, offering it with such casual kindness that Nesta found herself slightly taken aback. It wasn’t something she was used to. People usually wanted something in return, whether it was money or gratitude, but he had simply nodded and said, “It’s no trouble. You’re welcome.”

It had been an easy thing, a small task that turned out to be a surprisingly freeing experience. But more than that, it had reminded Nesta of how, sometimes, help could come in the most unexpected ways. And for the first time in a long time, she realized she hadn’t had to prove anything to anyone. There were no expectations, no ulterior motives—just simple kindness. It had felt… normal.

Nesta had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, a routine that felt surprisingly stable considering everything that had come before. She and Taryn still frequented the tavern, a place that now held a different kind of warmth for her. The music was still beautiful, the sounds of the violins and voices weaving through the air like threads of a tapestry. And the atmosphere no longer made her feel on edge. It was a place where she could exist without expectations, without judgment.

She had limited herself to a drink or two, something she didn’t do out of obligation, but because she could. It was a subtle form of control that felt empowering, even if it was something small. She had learned to be cautious with alcohol, with herself, and the way it had once loosened her inhibitions now served as a reminder of how far she’d come. No more drinking until she couldn’t remember the night, no more finding herself in the arms of someone she didn’t know, someone who never saw her.

She had stopped going home with strangers, the kind of action that had once felt like a way to fill the emptiness, to drown out the voices in her head. It was a choice she had made, a silent vow to herself. She wasn’t ready to touch anyone, to allow herself to be vulnerable with anyone in that way. Not after everything that had happened. Not after the years of conditioning herself to think that her worth was tied to the touch of others.

She didn’t know when or if she’d be ready to open up like that again, or even if she wanted to. Her mind was still a maze, full of questions she didn’t have answers to. What did she want? Was it men? Women? Both? Her attraction to Taryn, the gentle way the other woman’s presence calmed her, made her feel seen without having to explain herself, left Nesta feeling confused. She had never allowed herself to think about this before. It was as if she’d been too busy surviving, too focused on just getting by.

One night, as they sat side by side at their usual corner in the tavern, Nesta had turned to Taryn, the question bubbling up before she could stop it. “Is it possible?” she asked quietly, unsure whether she even wanted the answer.

Taryn had looked at her for a long moment, her gaze steady and understanding. There was no hesitation in her reply. “Yes,” she said simply. “It’s possible to want both. Or neither. Or anything in between. It’s your choice, Nesta. And it’s okay not to have it all figured out.”

Taryn’s words had settled deep inside her, not offering clarity, but permission. Permission to explore, to ask questions, to take her time. There was no rush. No need for certainty. Taryn had never pushed her to define herself or to make sense of feelings that felt out of place. She had simply allowed Nesta to exist, to sit in her own confusion, and that was the most freeing thing Nesta had ever experienced.

So, she kept going to the tavern, kept listening to the music, kept letting herself feel the warmth of Taryn’s quiet understanding. For the first time in a long time, Nesta wasn’t in a rush. She didn’t need to have everything figured out right now. She could be confused, she could be uncertain, and that was enough. She had the space to figure it out on her own time.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Nesta began to feel… regular. Not extraordinary, not broken, but just ordinary. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one she didn’t quite know how to define, but it was there, creeping into her life in little ways. She was becoming a regular at a small coffee shop that sat on the corner of a quiet street. The kind of place with mismatched chairs and the comforting smell of roasted beans hanging in the air.

The owner, a woman named Mira, had quickly learned her name and her order. It wasn’t anything fancy—just a plain black coffee with a dash of cinnamon, but there was something so grounding in the routine. Every time Nesta walked in, Mira would smile, nod in acknowledgment, and immediately start preparing her drink without asking. It was simple, but it felt like belonging in the best way.

At first, Nesta had been hesitant, unsure of how she would be received, how she could possibly fit into a place like this. But over time, the warmth of the coffee shop, the quiet hum of the barista working in the background, and the lack of expectations had drawn her in. It wasn’t a bustling place like the tavern; it was quieter, calmer, a space that allowed her to just be, without feeling scrutinized.

Elia had been the one to push her, inviting Nesta along for lunch one afternoon and introducing her to some of her own friends. At first, Nesta had felt like an outsider, like she was intruding on a scene that didn’t belong to her. But her fears were quickly washed away by the gentle humor and kindness of Elia’s friends. They were welcoming in the way that felt natural, not forced, and that made all the difference.

It hadn’t been a sudden shift, but over time, she had found herself becoming a part of something that wasn’t broken or tainted. She could walk into the coffee shop now without the usual knot of anxiety in her stomach, and the faces that greeted her were ones she recognized. People who knew her by name, who asked about her day with genuine curiosity. It was simple, but it was everything.

She didn’t feel like Nesta Archeron, the broken sister or the haunted soul, here. She was just Nesta—someone who liked coffee, someone who sometimes talked with Elia about books, who sometimes just sat in silence, sipping her drink and watching the world go by. And for the first time, she didn’t feel the need to be anything more.

Her life was slowly becoming a mosaic of small, quiet moments. There was no grand change, no sudden burst of revelation. It was just… regular. And that, Nesta realized, was what she had needed all along.

As the months passed, a quiet shift began to take place inside of Nesta. She had spent so much of her life locked away in confusion, shame, and fear, unable to understand or accept herself fully. But now, there was a budding clarity that came with time and reflection, a soft assurance that crept into her bones. She had begun to realize, with no small amount of surprise, that she wasn’t simply attracted to one or the other. She was attracted to both—men and women. And for the first time, she allowed herself to sit with that truth.

It hadn’t been easy. There were moments when the weight of it felt too heavy, moments when she questioned everything she had known about herself. Her upbringing, her family, the way she had been taught to see the world—they had all wrapped her in an armor of expectations and judgment. Even now, when she thought about the whispers of her past, the lessons she had been taught about what was right and what was wrong, there was still a flicker of shame that tried to settle in her chest.

But it was different now. The shame was quieter, less able to consume her. She didn’t want to hide it, not anymore. She knew she shouldn’t feel ashamed, and yet, in the stillness of her apartment or when she was alone with her thoughts, it would sometimes creep in. Still, the fear that once held her captive was gone. She was no longer afraid of what she was discovering about herself, of the people she might be drawn to or the complexities of her desires.

In fact, there was a certain peace in embracing this part of herself. It wasn’t a choice, but a realization—a recognition of something that had always been there, quietly waiting for her to acknowledge it. She had spent so many years afraid to explore this side of herself, to even consider that she might be different from what she had once imagined. But now, she was beginning to understand that there was no right or wrong, no singular path she was supposed to follow.

She had met people along the way who didn’t bat an eye at her evolving self, people like Elia who never questioned or judged, who simply accepted. Taryn, too, had shown her a kind of unspoken understanding, never pushing her to be something she wasn’t, but always offering her space to explore. It was in those moments, in the warmth of these new relationships, that Nesta found the courage to let herself be. She didn’t have to choose between one or the other. She could simply be who she was, without explanation.

Though she still struggled with the remnants of societal expectations and the weight of her past, the fear of what might happen, of how she might be viewed, was slowly becoming irrelevant. For the first time in a long time, Nesta realized that she didn’t need to hide, to force herself into any box. She could like who she liked. She could be attracted to men and women, and that was okay.

It wasn’t perfect, not yet. There were days when the shadows of old thoughts threatened to take over, moments when her mind was clouded with doubt. But they didn’t have the power they once did. Slowly, with each passing day, she was allowing herself the freedom to be who she truly was, and it felt like an immense weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

It had been a quiet evening, the soft hum of music filling the air as Nesta sat beside Taryn at the tavern. The lively crowd around them, swaying and laughing, seemed distant as the familiar melody reached her ears. It was one of those songs that had an almost tangible pull, and Nesta felt herself swaying to the rhythm of it, her feet tapping gently beneath the table.

Taryn sat beside her, a little too still, her gaze lost in the distant flickering of candlelight. Nesta studied her for a moment, her heart beating just a bit faster than usual. The feeling was there again—the same flutter she’d felt when she’d first met her, the same uncertainty and desire tangled together.

The music wove through the space, thick and sweet, like it had a life of its own. Something inside Nesta stirred—a desire to step into it, to take a risk she’d never allowed herself before.

Before she could second-guess herself, the words were already tumbling out, surprising her just as much as they might surprise Taryn.

“Will you dance with me?”

Taryn turned to her, blinking as if she hadn’t quite processed the request. Her eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise, the corner of her lips curling up just slightly, like she couldn’t quite decide if she was being teased or if Nesta was serious. The tension between them seemed to shift, a brief moment of hesitation hanging in the air.

“You… want to dance?” Taryn asked, her voice laced with a touch of amusement.

Nesta nodded, her expression determined, though her stomach churned with a mixture of excitement and nerves. She didn’t know why she’d asked. Maybe it was the music, or the way the night felt alive with possibility. Or maybe it was because, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t afraid to act on something that felt right in the moment.

Taryn’s surprise softened into something else—a curiosity, maybe a hint of something more. After a brief pause, she stood, holding out a hand to Nesta. “Well, then,” she said, her tone light. “I suppose I can’t say no.”

Nesta’s heart raced in her chest as she stood up, her breath catching in her throat. The tavern had fallen into a low hum as she and Taryn moved toward the floor, the crowd parting for them like a tide around rocks. The music, that ever-present rhythm, wrapped around them, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

When they were finally standing together, close enough that Nesta could feel the warmth of Taryn’s presence, she felt a surge of self-consciousness, her hands unsure of where to rest.

Taryn, though, seemed unbothered, her hand finding Nesta’s, guiding her gently into the flow of the dance. The movement was fluid, effortless, the music a gentle current that pulled them along. They moved together in a way that felt natural, like two pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. For once, Nesta didn’t feel out of sync, didn’t feel as though her steps were forced or awkward.

It was… comfortable. And for the first time in so long, she allowed herself to simply enjoy it.

The world around them became a blur—there was no judgment, no past, no expectations. Just the steady rhythm of their feet on the floor, the soft whisper of Taryn’s breath in time with the music. Taryn’s touch, her hand holding Nesta’s firmly, seemed to steady something within her, like she wasn’t just moving through the motions, but actually present, in this moment, in this dance.

The world outside might have continued to turn, but in this little corner of the tavern, Nesta had found something—someone—that made her feel like she wasn’t alone in the storm of it all.

And when the song ended, neither of them moved right away, the connection between them still lingering, the silence comfortable rather than awkward. It was a quiet understanding between them, something Nesta had never expected, but was grateful for nonetheless.

Taryn’s smile was gentle, a hint of warmth in it, and Nesta couldn’t help but return it. She didn’t need to say anything. The dance had spoken for her, more than words ever could.

Tag list: @litnerdwrites

[joseigamer]

Patalliro! is fascinating to me because of stuff like this. It's unapologetically gay - even within its anime which aired during primetime hours in 1982 - in a way that many later BL manga would never be, like the ones from the early 2000s which would never dare to call their characters actual homosexuals. Patalliro has actually aged quite well in this regard, there's something comforting about how campy it is.

[system-architect]

my controversial gw2 opinion of the day is that i actually like isgarren. dont get me wrong. i think he's objectively wrong about everything and also kind of a brat. that's the thing and the problem though. i like isgarren because he's kind of a massive whiny tantrum baby fussy drama queen.. he took brat summer and turned it into brat epoch !

[ganonfan1995]

I am always like: I should really use my Tumblr instead of my locked twitter more. I need to use Tumblr like it's my only website. And then proceed to check it once every two weeks alskjdfh

[elftwink]

it boggles my mind that I still see reminder type posts about not consuming Harry Potter content, not because I expected everyone to agree to stop engaging but because I did sort of expect that the people engaging with hp in 2024 would at least have the decency to not grovel on the internet for random transgender bloggers to validate that they're still a good person and not transphobic for liking hp still. like these posts are not redundant they are FILLED with defensive responses and excuses for why actually its fine and its like not only can you not stop engaging with Harry Potter but you also want to be able to post about doing so non-stop and you never ever want to even see a transgender person point out that JKR is actively funding and directly influencing transphobic organizations and legislation. to the point that when someone does you are incapable of simply scrolling by because you need so badly to be reassured that this internet rando doesn't think you specifically are a bad person for doing the thing they said is bad. unreal main character syndrome. if you have committed to being an hp fan fine i am not a cop or your mom and I cannot make you do anything at all. but I am not, nor is any other trans person, going to give you 'permission' or absolve you of your own guilt for doing so. that is your problem to reconcile yourself and is not the job of random trans people. like jesus christ enough already

[imflyingfish]

Fish you are so good at building to me your the Bdubs of people I know

Pheo ;w; ty

[rigginsstreet]

what is the likelihood of dacre showing up on the st5 premiere red carpet...

[teaveetamer]

I meant to add something onto the relevancy post:

If you're looking for relevancy? Being positive kicks being negative's ass 100% of the time.

You are going to get a lot of engagement initially with negative stuff, but it's just like real life, yeah? No one wants to hang around someone who is constantly picking fights and complaining all the time. It's normal (even cathartic) to complain about your relationship with your buddy every now and again, but if all your buddy ever does is complain about their partner? That shit is emotionally exhausting after a while.

That's why fandom presences built on negativity don't tend to have the same reach or legs as fandom presences built on positivity. People seek community and connection to be lifted up, not dragged down. If your community cannot exist without a degree of pervasive (often self-inflicted) negativity, then it is not going to be a community healthy people stick around in for very long.

I think that's something certain people don't entirely understand about the guy they're desperately trying to replicate the success of. No one who is genuinely beloved by the broader Edelgard fandom (not JUST the terminally online stan variation. People who are actually loved by the whole community) got that way by "owning the haterz" or "correcting the bad takes" or shitting on other people's favorite characters. They got their notoriety by creating Edelgard-positive content that genuinely tried to say something and was genuinely enjoyable for that subset of the fandom. And that's what they're largely remembered for, even if they, uh, might have gone off the deep end the longer this goes on.

Aaaaaand even if I don't agree with a lot of what was actually said, I can at least acknowledge that it was saying something and people liked that because it resonated with them. They weren't just picking fights, stalking, harassing, and generally regurgitating the same chewed up shit points over and over and vomiting it back on anyone unlucky enough to come within spitting distance.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Various images from the past year or so... posting my evil little photo diary collections once again..

[eyepatchdate]

i have complex feelings about it but in td when karkat is actually like fully integrated, he is much more static because the story is... Less directly affecting him? hes there as Dave's Boyfriend largely

[hassianlovebot]

i hope they change dispel arrows at some point,, i feel like they need a serious buff? i was hunting a proudhorn with two other people and we all had dispel arrows (which we used the entire time - no one switched to fine), and that thing was still teleporting... took us from statue garden all the way to the flooded wall... i'm okay with the dispel arrows stopping the magic for a short amount of time and not forever, but they literally felt useless the entire time. i get that they want us to hunt them together and the dispel arrows being too beefy would encourage solo hunting them but like,,, they shouldn't feel useless???

[savrenim]

no because how can maki catch a bullet point blank and then be slower than... a punch

I mean she. she's a sorcerer. clearly some of what she's got going on is Sorcerer Rules Don't Abide By Normal Physics.

this is. about as much a gotcha. as going "well what the FUCK is QUANTUM TUNNELING then a BOWLING BALL can't just DECIDE THAT IT CAN TELEPORT THROUGH A WALL, BOWLING BALLS DON'T TELEPORT THROUGH WALLS TAKE THAT" well in the case that the bowling ball is the size of a proton it. uh. can bc quantum rules apply instead of classical rules, and it's where they interact at the boundaries that you get weird cool shit and fun technology and realize just how bullshit our world actually is

she's got some Sorcerer Stuff going on, the Sorcerer Physics applies there, whatever's happening can't be perfectly modeled by a classical understanding of the world, it's not that much weirder to catch a bullet and not a punch than for bowling balls to randomly teleport through walls

[potato-non-grata]

Hi so this phenomenon is also the normalization of binge eating disorders, otherwise known as "the bad, un-empathetic one," to the point that people who struggle with it cannot get care. Binge eating IS a thing some people do, not just because of diet culture or whatever, but because of stress, trauma, or neurodivergence that makes them crave dopamine. When you have a binge eating disorder, you need mental and physical health care.

BUT because the culture treats over eating as the default that you need to self-regulate to avoid, people who actually suffer from binge eating are treated as lazy and undisciplined. The solution to laziness and lack of discipline is, of course, discipline and vigilance. Anyone with ANY mental illness could tell you that you can't just discipline your way out of it, and attempting to do so will either make it worse or cause a special new reactive mental illness.

I don't mean to bean chili OP's point, but I also know a lot of people struggle with binge eating and are torn between two camps that are either like "you're a disgusting, undisciplined pig" or "this is your natural weight and worrying about it means you aren't body positive" and it sucks because you can feel how unwell you are, but can't get any help from anyone.

Anyways, if that's you, you aren't alone. You aren't lazy or undisciplined. You are worthy of help.

we really can’t overstate how damaging it has been to indoctrinate the public with the idea that if they let themselves eat as much as they want, they’ll eat too much. human bodies, when permitted over the long term to eat as much as they want, actually get really, really good at calibrating their hunger and satiety, and will over time eat exactly the right amount for themselves. the common conception of a balanced eater as a minimal or restrained eater is absolutely wrong. balanced eaters eat quite a lot (compared to diet cultural ideas about right intake amounts), and they do so consistently and permanently. healthy, balanced eating isn’t some tightrope walk, it’s a gigantic net of total permission to eat.

[ourceliumnetwork]

usin the big fancy mug i bought for myself back in [redacted because i don't remember how long it's been but it's been Several Months now at least] for the first time. it's got a picture of a sheep on the bottom and it's blue and brown-black glazed and it's dishwasher and microwave safe (they said so at the booth) and it's fancy and huge and is full of coffeehotchocolate drink.