Claymore

Dear fandom,

I don't think I'd have the life I have without you.

That's not hyperbole.

You've been one of the most consistent threads in my life, even when everything else has shifted around you.

I found you young, in my teens, when being intensely passionate about fictional worlds and Australian pop stars was all I knew. At school, I had basically no friends - I was into the wrong things, the things that marked you out as odd rather than interesting. I listened to the wrong music, watched the wrong TV shows, and wore the wrong clothes, and I liked reading.

I know now that I'm autistic and non-binary, but I didn't know it then - I was just... weird. I wasn't like the girls, so they didn't want to know me, and the boys who liked sci-fi wouldn't talk to me because they thought I was a girl.

But online, I found you. And I found people who cared about the same things I did, in the same way. You were where I learned how to talk to people, how to connect, how to build relationships around shared enthusiasm instead of small talk. You gave me community when I didn't have one.

Honestly, I don't think I'd have any friends without fandom. I met everyone in my life either through bands or TV shows (mostly Good Charlotte, Supernatural and Leverage) - all of us blogging our fears, our hopes and dreams on LJ.

I even met my partner through fandom, via commenting on her kinky SG-1 fanfic on AO3 - which has somehow, five years later, turned into a whole life together. It still feels slightly unreal when I stop and think about it. We're having a civil partnership ceremony in April, which we affectionately call “not getting married”.

You've been there through so many versions of me. Younger me, who needed you desperately. Older me, who wanders off sometimes and then finds their way back. You've changed shape over the years - different platforms, different cultures, different rules - and not all of those changes have been easy. Sometimes you're messy. Sometimes you're exhausting. Sometimes you're sharp in ways that hurt.

And yet

You've given me joy that doesn't need to justify itself. You've given me people who get it, who speak the same strange shorthand, who understand why caring deeply about fictional characters or real-life athletes can matter so much. You've taught me that enthusiasm is not something to grow out of, and that loving something - openly, thoughtfully, obsessively - can be a form of resilience

These days, fandom looks like tennis feelings and fic, like small, niche corners of the internet where a handful of people care just enough about the same things I do. It looks like late-night rabbit holes, shared jokes, collective gasps, and moments of tenderness I didn't know I needed until they appeared on my screen.

I don't love you uncritically. I know your flaws well. But I love you honestly, and I'm still here. You've shaped my friendships, my writing, my sense of self - and even my romantic life.

Thank you for growing with me. Thank you for waiting when I wandered off. Thank you for still making room for me now. Thank you for the people. Thank you for the connections. Thank you for still being here, and for letting me still be here too.