One thing I have been trying to engage with more in 2026 is other forms of creative expression I enjoy outside of video production. A big one that's always been a pleasure is writing and I don't get to do much of it anymore. At best, a script is written for a video and while that is undeniably enjoyable, it is a very different form of writing when it's to be spoken out loud by myself vs something that's written purely to be read. I have been wanting to do more of the latter this year and I thought I should use Patreon as a little spot to post some writing when the desire strikes me.
I meant to do this earlier this spring after finishing a replay of the Mass Effect series and found myself with a collection of very focused thoughts as 3's credits rolled. Unfortunately those thoughts slipped away from me before I could start jotting them down and I've been annoyed at myself for allowing that to happen.
So, in keeping with that I've ended up writing some words in mourning of Destiny. Just a little reflection on the time spent now that its reached a sad and avoidable end. I write it for myself to sleep sounder at night but share it because... honestly, why not?
-Jamison
It’s the summer of 2026 and here I sit once again playing and thinking about Destiny.
One year after we tried to spin up a Raid series with it for the channel, only for us to quickly give up on that idea and for me to declare my time with the series definitively over, uninstalling the game for the first (and presumed last) time. Two years since The Final Shape’s exceptional finale felt like the well earned and logical end of a long and winding road. Nine years since Destiny 2’s initial release. Twelve years since the weekend-long PS4 alpha where we got our very first hands-on with the series. Fourteen years since the first leaked concept art gave us a taste of what was to come from Bungie after Halo. And seventeen years since the simple imagery of a white orb sitting a little too close to earth with the simple promise: Destiny Awaits.
I, like so many others who have enjoyed Destiny, found myself in a strange place when it was recently announced that the game would be receiving its final update in early June. As unceremoniously as the game was initially announced, so too was it killed. A tweet to bring it into the world and a tweet to take it out. Worse still than the suddenness of its support ending is that it’s become increasingly clear that there will be no future for Destiny. This, not so much the ending of Destiny 2, but the ending of Destiny itself, has been hard to comprehend.
Like so many others, I reinstalled the game and bought the remaining DLC’s I’d missed out on. Entire Destiny expansions for mere dollars were too hard to ignore. There were raids I never conquered, a pair of campaigns I never saw, art I’d yet to ogle. More than anything though, the community sentiment of returning home in show of support, solidarity, and mourning was what brought me back.
Bungie games changed my life. If you know your DTH Lore then you’ll know Joe and I (and many others, like Ben) would not know each other, the channel would not exist, and a million wonderful moments and memories would have remained unrealized had Halo not been what it was. Destiny, however, has filled a different role and it’s only now in it truly ending that I want to reflect on what that role really was.
A third space, a casino, the forever game of my dreams. Somewhere to hide, somewhere to thrive, somewhere to meditate. An addiction, an abuser, an obsession. A crutch, a blanket, a community. Destiny awaits.
For all its myriad issues, for a series that rarely went more than three months without bouncing between baffling missteps and brilliant strides forward, as its time comes to a close, I am left overwhelmingly with feelings of positivity towards it. Despite all its woes and all its roles, Destiny was ultimately a place of reliability.
It’s remained, for 12 years and nearly two thousand hours, the best feeling first person shooter out there. Every gun feels good to use and when you find the ones that feel perfect for your brain, it triggers things in there that no other games do. Countless weapons designed and executed to feel unique. Twelve years of delivering new interpretations of an assault rifle, shotgun, or hand cannon. Twelve years of weird, wild, wonderful exotic weapons that merged science fiction, fantasy, and the utilitarian needs of a weapon. Twelve years of fighting the same four factions of enemies and never did I grow tired of it because of the many tiny decisions made by talented people razer focused on the nebulous art of making a game feel special.
It’s remained one of the best-looking games of all time as well. I’ve been reminiscing about its visuals by putting together all the best photos I snapped of the game over its lifespan and when taken in totality, Destiny 2 is one of the great achievements in digital art. It’s staggering how many locations were crafted with such creativity. The sweeping, early winter vistas of The Steppe in the Cosmodrome, with its Shuttle-like spacecrafts abandoned and rusting on the horizon. The gothic techno-cathedrals of ancient evils buried under the surface of the moon. The incomprehensibly vast machinery of a world-devouring spaceship. These, and so many more, were the places we raced through to get to our loot. It was so easy to forget how stunning and varied the art of Destiny has been that only in going back through my countless screenshots over the years did I fully realize just how singular a vision the universe of Destiny was.
Most importantly though, it’s been a reliably safe place to exist in. There’s something about Destiny that reminds me of a good chair, or even my own bed. When you get home after a busy day of running around or from long days of travel and finally slip into that favorite spot in your living room or crawl into the safety and ultimate comfort of your own bed, that relaxation that sets in at a deep, subconscious part of your brain and body, that is how Destiny has felt.
Many aspects of the game, from large to small, would bounce around in quality as the goals and target audience for it would change, but these foundations are what kept me coming back for over a decade.
When my friends and I needed a place to simply hang out in, to catch up and be able to chat without having to think to hard about what we were playing, we’d find ourselves in Destiny. When I was exhausted from traveling and didn’t know what to play to relax and reorient myself, I’d end up in Destiny. When one lonely year turned into two and then three turned into four and suddenly it’s been half a decade, there was Destiny.
And now it’s not. Now we watch as decisions made by a select few lay waste to it all. So complete is the ending of Destiny that the team that was working on the game’s final hotfix is fired on a Thursday before they can ship the update the following Tuesday. The sandbox team of gameplay and weapons designers that worked together in harmony to make one of the greatest playing first person shooters ever made, has all been let go. The team of world class designers that worked in secret to make the raids of Destiny the most singularly original content in any first person shooter, the team that crafted content which led to experiences I will have seared into my brain until my last days, is gone. The obliteration of institutional knowledge and congregated talent, values, and goals has now occurred to a group of generational talent that built this series and the one that came before it. For leadership to have been so lacking in vision, to be so willingly or ignorantly blind to the quality of the talent that had amassed to be part of this special, strange mess that the simplest solution to the question of what to do next was to just end the entire thing and fire them all will never cease to boggle my mind.
I was there that first weekend in September 2014 with strangers as we opened the Vault and descended into Venus to see what exactly a Destiny raid would be. Soon, I will run my final raid in Destiny, this time to face off against the ultimate foe of the series. Ben will be there as he was in December 2014 when we first dove into the Hellmouth to “shoot Crota.” Together we’ll be joined by four others from this community of ours that ultimately exists because of the countless talented developers at Bungie. The work they did on Halo brought this community together and the work they did on Destiny was the foundation for countless memories.
I could fill pages of text with vivid memories I’ve had across this series. The people, the places, the moments of tension and relief. Using dance as communication to avoid speaking at 3am and waking my parents. Headphones dying and ruining an exhausting battle against Skolas. My sister’s dog hiding from the wind under my desk as I tried my hand at Iron Banner. Running missions eleven years later when that magnificent dog passes and I need a place to quietly grieve. Failing a raid because someone walked away mid-encounter to go to a party and chase a girl. Conquering Riven on our last attempt after a weekend of ceaseless trying, elation so intense it defies description. Getting back into the game one last time, now with a community of my own. It goes on. Twelve years of the best of times and twelve years of the worst of times.
Per audacia ad astra. “Through boldness, to the stars" Bungie proclaimed to the world as it unveiled Destiny for the first time thirteen years ago. To the stars we went. And it was worth it.