Ship It(92)

And just like that, it’s clear to me. Maybe this is it, the moment I figured it out. Standing on a stage at Comic-Con. Or maybe I’ve been figuring it out slowly and I just now understood it. Or maybe I knew all along and I was just scared to admit it. But I really, really like her. And I missed her. And all I want to do is tell her how I feel, and I don’t care who else hears me. And I don’t care what label they want to give me. I just need to tell her.

“I met someone recently who helped me realize that my connection to fanfiction is more personal than I thought,” I say. “She’s one of the most important people in my life, and I wouldn’t have met her if it weren’t for Demon Heart fandom. And she helped me realize something super important.”

Okay, deep breath, here we go.

“And that’s that… I’m queer.”

And Tess’s whole face changes as she laughs in surprise and looks completely full to the brim.

“And maybe some of you are, too, and maybe that’s something you knew all along, but I only recently started figuring it out. And I don’t know if I’m lesbian or bi or, like, homoromantic pansexual or what, but I know I wouldn’t have gotten this far in understanding myself if it hadn’t been for fanfiction and the people I’ve met through writing and reading it.”

And here it crosses my mind to look for my parents in the audience. They’re easy to spot because Mom is waving her hands at me and Dad is throwing me big A-OK signals. Dorks. Dad’s probably going to write a poem about this on the way home.

And for once, I’m not second-guessing myself. It feels right.

“If you know my work, you know that in my fanfic, I write Smokey and Heart as bisexual. They’re not out on the show, but imagine if they were. Imagine what that would mean for all the people like me out there, who might be watching and waiting and hoping to see a bit of themselves on-screen.”

I don’t look at Jamie, or Rico, or Forest, not yet. “And while I’m at it, I’m not just talking queer representation. Look at the show, look how white it is, how male. Where are the women, the people of color, aside from one? Where is any of the diversity that makes our world fascinating, and unique, and special? Demon Heart tells great stories, but in the end, all I see is Heart, Smokey, and a lot of straight white guys in rubber masks.”

I adjust my glasses and get back on track. “Here’s what I’ve come to accept. The show is never going to go canon with the SmokeHeart relationship. Smokey is dead; it’s over. If seeing a SmokeHeart kiss on the show would have been important to you, you’re out of luck. You’ll have to rely on reading it in fic, because the real thing isn’t going to happen. Whether you want to stay in this fandom and continue to make works that redefine Demon Heart in the way you want to see it—that’s a personal decision you have to make for yourself. These guys have all talked on this subject before, and I’m not going to ask them to talk about it again today. I think they’ve made their positions pretty clear.”

There, I managed to talk about it without asking Forest about it. I hope that’s good enough. I hope that didn’t hurt him too much.

There’s silence in the hall. I can’t tell if any of that was inspiring or disappointing or what, but it was honest, at least. All I really have left is my honesty.

“I think we should move on to the next question,” I say.

“Claire, wait.”


RICO HAS BEEN making damn faces at me this entire time. Very practiced, neutral faces that don’t betray anything to anyone who might be filming or photographing him, but I can tell from the extremely slight way he narrows his eyes and bores them into me that he wants me to do something. But what can I do? What the hell can I do?

When Claire starts talking about her own experiences, I feel my heart split open. After seeing her with these high walls for so long, watching her tear them down and open herself up to a room full of people and cameras and reporters and who knows what all? It takes a lot of bravery to do that.

There’s a little boy in the front row who is here with his mom. I just keep looking at his face, watching as his eyes grow bigger and bigger until they’re like baseballs bulging out of his head. When Claire comes out as queer, he grips two hands to his chest and his mom puts her arm over his shoulders as big, fat tears run down his face. I don’t know if Claire sees him, but I have to tell her about it after. This moment is touching people. Her words are touching people.

And then, after all that, she says she’s not going to even ask us about it. After all that, she’s still protecting me, making sure I don’t have to answer the question or put my career on the line. That’s when Rico’s knee connects hard with mine under the table.

He’s not wrong.

I have to do something.

I look at him, and for a moment, I see what Claire sees. A warm, gentle, thoughtful, obnoxious, fun-loving weirdo who wants to make sure everyone feels heard and has a good time. If there’s anything he’s taught me, it’s that I should take more risks, worry less. Stop thinking so much.

I reach my hand toward Rico discreetly, thankful that there’s a tablecloth between us and the crowd, blocking their view. I take his hand and he looks at me with a little half smile. I squeeze his hand and raise my eyebrows at him. A question: Do you want to do this? Rico squeezes back, and I see his eye crinkles go into full effect. Yes, I do. Damn I love those eye crinkles.