#but i stopped reading her years ago because of her bullshit stance on fanfic!

[docholligay]

No one does fucking crazy like Anne Rice, tell you what.

Okay i maybe should have made a limit on the book length ahaha

[suwya]

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Prologue

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Summary:  Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

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Rating: M

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AO3

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A/N: I started to write this story two years ago, but I never found the courage to post it. Until something happened. 

I read some of the brilliant fanfics written by @thisonesatellite​, and commenting them with her, gave me the pleasure to getting to know this amazing person. She is the reason why this fic sees the light of the day. And she is also my beta: I will be forever thankful to her for all the help she gives me, I owe her so much!

Happy birthday Stephanie! I hope you’re having a wonderful day, because you deserve the best!

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Prologue.

And a softness came 

from the starlight 

and filled me full 

to the bone. 

(W. B. Yeats)

Fucking ice bitch is not so icy after all. Killian thought while he was crossing the Royal Palace's limits. And yes, he was probably drunk, but not enough to forget that he didn't want to stay on this ridiculous planet another day more than necessary. He needed to repair his ship and fly far, far away from here as soon as he could. He would be damned if he didn't. 

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***

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Eight full moons before.

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The room was too bright for his liking; it was big, neat and decorated with minimalist furniture, just a double bed with a couple of night stands. 

Killian shook his head; this was a mistake, a huge mistake, one that would pester his soul for the rest of his life. He knew better. Why am I even here? He thought. Oh, yes, because of the bloody money. If there was any chance to leave this damn place, this was it. He needed the money to repair his ship.  

Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary." 

When a rock had collided with his ship, Killian had made a forced landing. New Tolemac seemed a quiet place to lie low for a while, at least at the beginning. But, the ins and outs of the Royal Government of this planet weren't aligned with his philosophy. Long ago he had sworn to himself to serve no king and live by his own rules. 

There were only two things that stood between him and his next destination: A new gimbal block for the engine of his ship, and the money to purchase it. 

He stood at the end of the bed pondering over the best outfit for the occasion. He wasn't exactly attending a Royal Gala, this was a commercial trade... sort of. 

In the end, he stuck with his usual attire: a black vest over a dark grey long sleeved shirt, black jeans, and boots. He was in contrast to the place he was staying. Everything was white: the blankets, the walls, the pavement, even the door. 

He didn't flinch when that door suddenly opened. “Here we go.” He said to himself and tried to put on his best poker face. 

Through the door frame, he could spot three figures. Two of them were Royal Guards with black and maroon uniforms, helmets hiding their faces, and the characteristically rounded blades around their waists. Killian wished he had his automatic harpoon with him as well, but of course, no foreign arms were allowed inside the confines of the Royal Palace. 

The third person of the group was a lithe, young girl with straight blond hair tied in a complex braid. She was wearing an elegant but simple white dress with thin straps that was long enough to hide her feet. She was the only one who entered the room; the guards closed the door behind her. 

So this is the famous Princess Emma, Killian thought. Well, she was beautiful, indeed, and young, so very young. Nobody had ever seen the Princess in public, not the common people at least. Raised by the Royal Family in the utmost secrecy, she had never crossed the barriers of the Palace and its gardens. Protected like the most precious treasure in existence, she held the future of the entire planet in her hands.

And that was exactly why Killian was in that room with her.

She stopped a few steps in front of him, her chin raised and her arms crossed in front of her, in what Killian would have defined as the typical arrogant Royal attitude. 

"Let’s do it quickly. I have a pretty busy schedule today," she stated.

"Well, that's a shame, Princess, because I do like to take my time around a woman."

"We are not here because of what you like," she replied. "During the last few weeks, you have been thoroughly tested by a highly professional medical team, and you've been selected as the most capable for the role, and that is what matters to get the most satisfying result," she explained in an unsentimental tone.

"Capable sounds good, but it's probably not the adjective I would choose to describe myself." Killian tilted his head and hooked his right thumb in one of the loops of his belt, then made a step towards her invading her personal space. His flirty innuendos usually had a certain effect on women. "Regarding the satisfying results…"  He added in a low sultry voice "well, love, you don't have to worry about that."

"I'm not worried and I'm definitely not your love," she huffed impatiently and he immediately realized he had not impressed her. "Now, if we are finished with the preliminaries, I'd rather get to the point," she added, indicating the bed near them. "As I said before I have a busy schedule. Some people have responsibilities."  

"Believe me, Princess, I haven't even started with the preliminaries." He grinned, blinking at her.

"Mr. Jones..." she started what seemed to be a petulant comeback, but he lifted a hand to stop her. 

"Killian will do," he smiled. “Or Captain, if you prefer something more formal.”

"Whatever." She went on, "let me make this clear: you're expendable. You're here just because you were the first name on the list, but that doesn't mean that I can't discharge you and choose the second one."

Killian remembered who the ‘second one’ was. Some bloke full of bullshit named Cassidy, whom he had met while waiting for a test to run. The thought of that piece of work and this beautiful young lady in the same room sent an unexpected shiver down his spine. He suddenly felt like he had to protect her, but why? "Oh, but you won't, because Royals never settle for second best. Besides, you don't intimidate me, Princess. I believe you're the one who's going to lose here." Confidence had always been his most effective weapon.

"You're so full of yourself, but at the end of the day I will fulfill my duty. You, on the other hand, will end up with no reward at all. And I've heard the paycheck is quite alluring. Wasn't that why you applied in the first place?" Damn woman, he thought. She knew how to push his buttons. 

Something about the Princess captivated him but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He studied her. She was guarded, she clearly didn’t want him to look through her barriers. But it wasn’t all due to her status, it seemed more of a protective measure. 

He decided it was time to stop with his demeanor; he shouldn't have even started from the beginning. What was he thinking? Flirting with a girl so young. But innuendos and suggestive remarks had always been his coping mechanisms in a thorny situation.

A muscle clenched in his jaw and with a more serious tone of voice he asked, "How old are you?"

"Excuse me?" Her eyes widened for a brief moment. She looked him up and down as if she was wondering who he was exactly. 

The fleeting crack in her stance she had just shown him confirmed to Killian that there was much more behind those pompous Royal walls of hers. "You are way too young. How old are you?" He insisted.

"Not much younger than you are." The Princess put her hands on her hips and immediately stepped back. Her posture was rigid, her mouth set in a firm thin line, her eyes cold and challenging. 

"Appearances can be deceiving. I'm quite a lot older than you can imagine. I’m not from here, and I’ve been in many lands where time runs differently."

She seemed to consider his words for a few seconds. "I'm seventeen." She answered, but before he could react she went on to explain,“and tonight the three moons of New Tolemac will align with the northern star, which makes the best scenario for me to conceive a Royal Heir.” 

“This is the most preposterous nonsense I've ever heard.” Killian knew what he was supposed to do in that room, but this was insane. The girl was only seventeen years old, she had a whole life in front of her.

"I don't expect you to understand. As you said, you're from another planet. In this realm, we follow the rules. And my parents raised me to be a reliable part of the Royal Family, who in spite of my age can assume the responsibilities of a pregnancy, and consequently raise a child to be our future King."

"The same sweet dear parents that locked you up in a room to be fucked by the first random guy of the week, I presume?"

"It's not locked. I can go out whenever I want." She answered in the same pragmatic tone with which she had been speaking the whole time.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing, how could she agree to these methods? But maybe, if it was true that she had been raised for this purpose, the King and Queen had probably done everything in their power to not let her think otherwise. "But you won't." He stated as a matter of fact. 

"Of course, I won't. I'm here to fulfill my duties." She replied, and it didn't slip by him that it was the second time she had used the exact same words, as if they were a memorized speech. 

“Oh, come on, don't tell me you've never imagined a grandiloquent wedding.” He tried to tease her.

“I will marry a suitable candidate when the right time comes, but it's definitely not on my agenda at the moment.” She explained as if it was the most obvious thing in all the worlds. 

“A suitable candidate? No knight in shining armor who will rescue you from your miserable existence?”

“I'm no damsel in distress, Captain Jones.” She answered, emphasizing his rank, “I don't need to be rescued.”

“What about love?” He needed to probe her limits, to know what was behind her walls.

“Love is overrated. We are at war. There's no time for such trivialities.”

That surprised him. “I had no idea New Tolemac was at war.” 

“Maybe not right now, but the Lepka Industry is pushing forward, and we all know the consequences.”

Killian definitely knew something about those consequences. I've seen with my own eyes what that monster is capable of. He thought to himself. Invading a peaceful planet and depleting all the resources until it ends up imploding with no safe getaway for its inhabitants. It was a painful memory he had spent years trying to avoid and eventually forget. “I’m well aware of The Industry’s methods.” 

“Then, you of all people should understand the importance of some good defensive measures.”

“But The Industry is very far from here.” He wasn’t sure why the Government of this planet was so intimidated by a faraway menace.

“For now. But we have to be prepared for every possibility. And the population will need their rightful ruler when the time comes.” The Princess explained. “So, if everything is clear, I'd like to get started.” She added.

Killian stared at her. He was starting to understand. She seemed so young and somehow vulnerable, but behind that fragile appearance she was a tough lass, and he liked it. Still, he believed that this was a terrible mistake. “I'm not going to touch you.”

“What?” She asked outraged. “This is not what you've signed on for.” 

Killian shrugged. “I've changed my mind.”

“Why?” She inquired with wide open eyes, and he couldn’t decide if she was shocked by his refusal to follow an order, or if it was the rejection that was hurting her. 

He stepped forward, and now they were so close he could spot some golden flecks in her emerald eyes. “Because no woman in any land should be treated like this, no matter how noble the reasons are.” He almost whispered.

“I'm not being treated in any way.” She replied in the same low voice. “This is my choice and my duty. My planet needs an heir that will be able to lead it.” 

“You are the heir.” He stated and made a step back. Then, he lifted a hand to his head as if he was suddenly remembering something and added in a mocking way, “But oh, I forgot, you're a woman, which means that you can't govern because of some stupid rules.” 

“You don't understand.” She hissed through her teeth, now clearly annoyed. “This is the only chance I have to save my people.” 

“Well, then, do whatever you have to do, savior, but not with me.” Killian bowed to let her clear that the conversation was over from his point of view. “Sorry Princess, but as appealing as it may look, I'm not going to have sex with you.”

"You're wasting my time!” She didn’t raise her voice, but she definitely looked furious now. “Guards!” She shouted, and when the door opened she ordered: “escort this man outside the Palace's boundaries."

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***

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Eight full moons after.

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Taverns in New Tolemac were scarce, leisure activities were not banned, but not happily welcomed either. The Crimson Crown was probably the worst tavern Killian had set foot in, and he had been in many of them. A band was trying to lighten the atmosphere, but the music was awful and the acoustics even worse. Killian didn't mind; his gaze fixed on the bottle he was grabbing. The glass long forgotten, he was swirling the amber liquid inside, or what was left of it. His senses were with him: the cold crystal in his hand, the out of tune string in his ears, the sour taste in his mouth; but his mind, his mind was in a place very, very far from where he was sitting.

"In which galaxy are you right now?"

He had completely zoned out and forgotten he had company. "Come again?" He tried to focus on the presence beside him.

"What's bothering you? And don't tell me it's nothing, 'cause that look on your face speaks volumes." 

Robin was his best friend, his only friend would be more exact to say. He wasn't from around here either, but he had been living in New Tolemac for much longer than Killian. The two of them had known each other since Killian had landed on this damned planet. 

Two foreigners, two lonely souls with no attachments, maybe that's why they connected so easily. 

But Killian was in no mood for conversation, not tonight. He was going to finally leave this planet once and for all: he had bought the last piece he needed to fix the engine of his spaceship first thing in the morning. A couple of days more just to arrange everything and he would pack his things and fly away. 

He had asked Robin to go with him, to search for a better life in a more hospitable place, and his friend eagerly accepted the invitation. They had ended up in that tavern to celebrate it. Killian should have been euphoric. But his guts were clenching. Why wasn’t he so happy to leave as he was supposed to be?

Nine months had passed since his unfortunate landing. So many more than those he would have stayed if he had had the chance to leave. Eight months since the day he met the Princess.

No, no, no. He thought, shaking his head. Don't let your mind go down that path again. He warned himself.

Killian drew the bottle up his lips, but a hand stopped his movement. 

"Easy. Don't you think you've had enough for tonight?"

"There's no such a thing as enough alcohol." He grunted, but the hand didn't relent. "Fuck off, Robin!" He exclaimed. 

"Your enchanting behavior doesn't work with me." Robin retorted ironically. "Come on, let's get out of this place." He added tugging at Killian's arm. 

The air outside was thick and humid. "Bloody summer" Killian cursed while stumbling over a little rock. As he regained balance he realized that maybe his friend was right, and even if he could hold his rum, he might have had too many drinks. 

They walked silently side by side for a while, since one of the perks of having a best friend is that you don't need to entertain the other person all the time. So Killian's mind started meandering through a road he had tried to avoid just a few minutes before.  

"It's completely bad form." He exclaimed eventually. 

"What is?" Robin asked, probably taken a little aback at his abrupt words. 

"I just wanted to help her. Why didn't she accept my help?" Killian went on without many further explications. 

"Wha...?" Robin started to ask, but then realization clearly struck him. "After all these months why are you still thinking about her?"

"Fucking ice bitch." Killian cursed. 

"I beg your pardon?" Robin was having problems in following his friend's thoughts. 

"It's the moniker I chose for her, don't you think it's accurate?" The other said as if it was the most obvious thing.

Robin shook his head. "It's not like you to talk this way about a woman. You must be really wasted." And after a moment of silence, each of them lost in their own inner world, Robin asked: "Are you sure you can get home safely by yourself?"

Killian stopped and realized that they had arrived at a crossroad where their paths back home diverged. "I'm fine, mate." He replied with a little persuading smile. 

"I'll call you in the morning... or not. You tend to be a bit irritable when you're hungover." 

"Good night to you, too." Killian answered back ironically. And they went separate ways.

The night was still young, at least for Killian's standards, so he decided to walk a bit more, clear his mind, and his feet brought him near the water. The sound of the ocean waves crashing into the shore had always calmed him. 

He inhaled deeply the salted breeze and for a while he just stood there staring into the horizon that was clearly visible due to the bright light of the three full moons. After a while lost in his thoughts, he was almost ready to call it a night when he noticed a presence not far from where he was standing. 

Someone was sitting on a large rock in a meditative position with straight back and crossed legs, hands resting on the knees. It was the Princess, as if she had somehow materialized from his thoughts. But how could it possibly be?

Maybe he had already passed out and was now dreaming, he thought, or maybe he was simply hallucinating because of the high level of alcohol in his veins. Otherwise, he would never have trespassed the Palace's limits without being aware of it, which could only mean problems.

He should turn back home, he knew it. But as a moth is attracted by a flame, he was drawn by her. While approaching her silhouette, he could make out her closed eyes. 

He didn’t mean to startle her, so he cleared his throat to announce his presence. The Princess opened only one eye; if she was surprised to see him she didn’t show it. “I’m trying to concentrate.” She closed her eye again and went on with whatever she was doing.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” He asked nonchalantly, disregarding her statement.

“Do you need help finding your way back home, Mr. Jones? From the smell that precedes you, I assume you may not have realized that you entered a property where you’re not welcome.” She said without changing her position.

“You remember me! It’s always a pleasure to know I did a good impression!” He exclaimed cheerfully. “I mean, it’s quite some time we haven’t come across each other.” But after a deeper glimpse at her, he realized that the curves of her dress weren’t the result of the breeze. She was very much pregnant. "And you clearly let that bastard fuck you." The words left his mouth before he could even think about them. 

She didn’t move, didn’t even open her eyes. He hadn’t exactly approached her with the intention to start an argument, but now that the cards were already on the table, there was no point in going back on his words, so he went on. "Of course you couldn't disappoint mom and daddy. But let me tell you one thing, no mother or father would ever do something like that to their own daughter.”

She was making an effort ignoring him if the sudden increase in her breathing rhythm was a hint, but that was all he obtained from her. “Don't you see it?” Killian insisted. “They are not some loving parents, you're just a pawn in their hands. They don't have a legitimate heir to the throne, because, oh what a shame, you are a girl! So they raised you just to give them what they've ever wanted: a boy." 

He knew he was hurting her. She hadn't moved a muscle during his speech, but he saw her bottom lip trembling in spite of her efforts to remain untouched. Nevertheless, he couldn’t give a damn. He had nothing to lose at this point. At least she would listen to everything he had needed to tell her since the day he left the Palace eight months before.

"Do you really think they will let you take care of your child? Don't be so naive. They will probably discard you as soon as you give birth. They have locked you inside this prison for all your life, a shiny beautiful cage, that is, but still a prison. You don't have a life of your own. They didn’t let anyone near you. Nobody knows you, and nobody will care about you when you will be expendable."

At those words she finally opened her eyes and if looks could kill he would be instantly dead. She was angry, he could see that, probably furious with him, but there was more, her eyes had become a little watery and a turmoil of feelings was passing through them, he could read it. He held a hand up and didn't let her speak "No need to call the guards this time. I'm going to walk myself out of this miserable place with great pleasure." 

Fucking ice bitch is not so icy after all. He thought while crossing the Royal Palace's limits. And yes, he was probably drunk, but not enough to forget that he didn't want to stay on this ridiculous planet another day more than necessary. He needed to repair his ship and fly far, far away from here as soon as he could. He would be damned if he didn't. 

[wellknownwolf]

I want to move into a new phase in my relationship with fandom, as I mature with new experiences. I'm not sure what exactly that looks like though. What is your take on the parasocial affection inherent in an RPF like Rhett & Link? Or even the deep attachments that can form with fictional characters? Or a desire to emulate fantasy worlds? I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable with all this, it's just that it's been a long time coming, and once I got started I couldn't stop. - Natasha (5)

First, let me post the full question, since it came in 5 parts:

Hey, it's me again. Your 'mystery inquirer', as you so adorably dubbed me. You're right, I had forgotten I'd sent in that ask. Just now, I couldn't help but think about a scene from Life After, as I am wont to on a frightfully regular basis, which is what got me back here. When you said you pondered over my seemingly simple, banal question for a good while, and wrote out a beautifully thoughtful answer like you always do, it made me happy.

Your narrative voice is similar to my own, and it made my chest ache in a certain way to have gotten such a response to what felt like a random shout out into the abyss (though it obviously wasn't, I sent it directly to you, I guess it's more what it felt like taking a chance on a conversation with a random stranger online). And now I'm cringing a bit at how melodramatic all sounds. But I'm committing to it, anyway. That's the beauty of anon, eh?

Wolfie (is it presumptuous to call you that? Please do forgive me the liberty I'm taking), I must admit. I'm quite envious of this community you have with @missingparentheses, @lunar-winterlude, and other wonderful people. Since childhood, I've been head over heels in love with fandom. Not a specific fandom, I've been a traveller through dozens, but fandom in general. I've read probably thousands of fanfics, spent countless hours daydreaming about beloved characters and their stories.

To the point where, in my most recent and worst depressive episode, it may have been for the worse, if I'm honest. Escapism and yearning to the point of impairment, engendering a sense of constant bereavement. But it's taught me so much about life and its wonders, I can't write it off as just some damaging habit. It's such an integral part of who I am, a deeply curious soul (shout out to my Enneagram Type 5-ers out there!). But I don't anyone to share it with, and it can get quite lonely.

I want to move into a new phase in my relationship with fandom, as I mature with new experiences. I'm not sure what exactly that looks like though. What is your take on the parasocial affection inherent in an RPF like Rhett & Link? Or even the deep attachments that can form with fictional characters? Or a desire to emulate fantasy worlds? I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable with all this, it's just that it's been a long time coming, and once I got started I couldn't stop. - Natasha

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Thank you for giving me so much to respond to, Natasha.  Thank you for continuing to reach out.   I accidentally wrote something like a paper in response to your thoughtful question.  I even conducted a little research and cited a source.  ENGLISH TEACHER, ACTIVATE!

Also, for what it’s worth, I feel at times that I communicate exclusively through shouts into the abyss, so it’s a language with which I am at home.  In fact, it is this very technique, this experiment with intense vulnerability at the hands of a virtual stranger, that earned me one of my absolutely most-treasured friends: @missingparentheses.  I have poured out a great deal of my own melodrama to her, and she has received it and reciprocated it in a way that, three years later, continues to teach me how to be a better friend.  In short, I’m a firm believer in diving straight in when it comes to new friends.  Cringe not; I’m on board.

So let’s dive.

R&L is really only the second “fandom” with which I’ve been involved.  Third, if we count my preteen obsession with ‘N Sync (and considering how much wall space I dedicated to their posters and self-printed photos, we probably should).  My point is, while I don’t have much experience with the community facet of fandom, I do relate to your feeling of near-obsession.  Or clear obsession.  

I know the feeling of escapism you’re describing, and I know the yearning and melancholy that can come on our worst days, where we feel like “real life” will never measure up to the color and brilliance of the worlds we spend so much time considering. These worlds, these characters and their relationships, their challenges, victories, and defeats all seem so purposeful: they’re the plot points we use to craft the stories in our heads (regardless of whether we’re writers at all).  It can be much harder to view ourselves as protagonists worth analyzing, viewing and reviewing through new lenses, perhaps because we’re warned against navel-gazing, perhaps because our self-perception just won’t allow for it.  Maybe a little of both.

But yes!  It teaches us!  We DO learn about life, other people, love, risk, all kinds of things through what we consume in these fandoms, so I would never classify it as a “bad” thing.  We hone our imaginations and learn to pay attention to our own emotions as we recognize feelings from our favorite shows, games, books, and characters arising in ourselves.  

I used to be a little afraid of the fact that I was always telling myself stories, internally imagining myself as someone else, a player in the worlds I often loved more than my own.  I suspected that someday, somehow, I would be caught playing pretend all the time in my own little ways.  I was a bright and ambitious young woman, so why would I give so much of my mental energy to such frivolous pursuits?

In my first semester of graduate school, though, I learned from a Lit. Theory professor who intimidated the hell out of me that we all do this.  We’re all telling ourselves stories all the time, some of which are true and close to objective reality, some of which are more subjective to whatever fantastical (or fandom) material we last consumed.  I’ve whispered my own dialogue in the shower, but so have you whispered yours in your head (if not also out loud in your shower!).  And through this act, however it is performed, I have made those worlds part of my own.  So have you.  In this way, they are real, and I no longer feel fearful of being “found out.”  

When we have those moments of doubt, though, when we wonder whether we’re going too far, it probably stems, at least partially, from the “us v. them” divide between fandom and mainstream society.  We love our little worlds, but we also feel that twinge of anxiety that we might be bordering on obsession, that our guilty pleasure might be discovered and we will be socially punished for it, namely, as Joli Jensen writes in “Fandom as Pathology: The Consequences of Characterization,” because “the fan is characterized as (at least potentially) an obsessed loner, suffering from a disease of isolation, or a frenzied crowd member, suffering from a disease of contagion. In either case, the fan is seen as being irrational, out of control, and prey to a number of external forces” (13). According the consistent covert (and overt, at times) messages of the mainstream, “[f]andom is conceived of as a chronic attempt to compensate for a perceived personal lack of autonomy, absence of community, incomplete identity, lack of power and lack of recognition” (Jensen 17).  Yikes.  That doesn’t feel good to admit about ourselves, does it?  

Luckily, it’s bullshit.

Treating “fans” as others (outsiders, people who can’t form relationships or find fulfillment in the “real world”) “risks denigrating them in ways that are insulting and absurd” (Jensen 25).  Those who take this stance, who see fans as victims of hysteria or desperate loners, do so in order to “develop and defend a self-serving moral landscape.  That terrain cultivates in us a dishonorable moral stance of superiority, because it makes other into examples of extrinsic forces, while implying that we [members solely of the mainstream] somehow remain pure, autonomous, ad unafflicted” (Jensen 25).  In short, that us/them thinking just makes people feel better about themselves by pointing out an easily-identifiable “other.”

 I have also grappled with the concept of parasocial affection, particularly with R&L.  I was well into writing my first Rhink fic when the thought crossed my mind, “Oh my god, what if I actually met these people someday?  How would I look them in the eye?  I’d feel like a crazy person (again)!”  From the safety of the Midwest, I laughed off the thought.  And then a year or so later, they were announcing their first tour. And I was still writing, here and there, still deep in my affection for them, sometimes wrestling with the thought that I’ve devoted so much energy to people who would never know I exist.  

It doesn’t matter that the attachment was in the most obvious, tangible ways only one-sided.  As an adult who is ever-learning how to navigate the worlds of her own creation and the ones over which she has far less control, I view my intense attachment to characters both real and fictional with deep fondness.   And while I may not receive affection or attention directly from the sources (R&L, fictional characters, sports teams, who/whatever we build fandoms around), I am still earning some very real rewards for my involvement: Because of them, I found my way to a participatory culture in which I was supported and encouraged to express my creativity.  This gave me the push and interest that I needed to hone skills that have not only made me a better writer, but also a better teacher and mentor.  With fandom comes the ability to immediately strike up a conversation over shared interests. With fandom comes a sense of belonging in what we have proven is an awfully divisive world.  

Right now, I’m consuming far less fandom-related material than I did a few years ago.  I don’t really watch GMM anymore and I’m on a break from Ear Biscuits (though I still love it), Gotham ended over a year ago and I’m not in the habit of reading fics right now, and I can’t yet play the remade Final Fantasy 7, so that’s out for me, too (though I know I will fall deep into that well once the game is in my hot little hands).  This all happened by itself.  I never consciously moved away from these sources; I just floated on to other interests and other levels of interest, knowing that if and when I wanted to dig back in, I could always come back.  

I used to feel quite sad at the thought of someday “moving on” from these intense interests.  I couldn’t fathom somehow falling out of love with those bands, actors, or video games.  But for me, the transition into wherever I am now has not been painful in the least.  I’m glad I knew the intensity that I did, and I’m happy with the distance I have now. And there’s a good chance I’ll be fanatic about something else someday.  I’m looking forward to it!

 Here are some responses that I couldn’t organically fit into my essay:

Yes, you can call me Wolfie if you’d like.  That name started with @missingparentheses (her second appearance in this answer!), and quickly became a reminder to not take myself too seriously.  

Second, I don’t think I know any other Type 5s!  I’m a type 8. 

Also, here’s my MLA formatted citation for the Jensen source:

Jensen, Joli. “Fandom as Pathology: The Consequences of Characterization.”   The Adoring Audience: Fan Culture and Popular Media, Routledge, 1992, pp. 9-29.