Summer of Stargate

Sometimes I think people misunderstand what it means when someone says, "I don't write for kudos or comments."

And I do mean it — I really do. I write because there’s a story in my head that won’t leave me alone until I get it out. I write because I love exploring character dynamics and emotional textures. I write because shaping a scene, pulling something messy and human out of my brain and onto the page, makes the noise quiet down.

But that doesn’t mean the silence doesn’t sting.

I'm in a small fandom — tennis RPS — and right now, most of the energy is around the same few pairings. It would be so easy to just churn out endless Carlos/Jannik PWPs. And look, I get the appeal! I’ve written them! But I’m not feeling them right now. They’re not where the story lives for me at the moment.

Instead, the narratives pulling at me are Darren/Jannik, or the softer, tangled dynamics of the Team Sinner polycule. They’re not the flashy ships. They’re not what people are actively refreshing AO3 for. But they’re where the heart of it is, for me.

And the thing is: when I post one of those fics — the ones I’ve sat with, nurtured, maybe cried over a little — and it gets no response at all? That hurts. Even though I knew it might happen. Even though I didn’t write it for a flood of comments or a mountain of kudos. It still makes me pause. It still makes me wonder if I should’ve just kept it to myself.

It’s not about validation — not really. It’s about connection. It’s about that hope that someone, anyone, might read it and feel what I felt. Might see the story the way I saw it. Might quietly whisper, yes, this.

And sometimes someone does. Sometimes it takes a while. Sometimes it’s one person, and that’s enough. But when there’s silence? Yeah, I notice.

Still — I’m not going to stop writing what matters to me just because it’s not the popular thing. I can’t. That’s not why I started, and it’s not why I keep going. I’ll keep writing Darren carefully reading Jannik’s body language. I’ll keep writing pack dynamics and slow burns and quiet domesticity and softness. Because those are the stories I care about. And I’d rather care deeply than be trendy.

So if you’re in the same boat — writing what you love even when it feels like no one’s looking — I see you. I’m proud of you.
We’re not shouting into the void.
We’re sending out messages in bottles.
Someone might find one. Someone might need it.
Hell, maybe we needed to write it, just to breathe a little easier.

And that’s enough. That has to be enough.
But it’s also okay if we hope for more.