When the topic of LGBTQ representation in books, TV shows, and movies comes up, often a companion topic will emerge: what about including queer characters without making a big deal about their identity? Should we be striving to write LGBTQ characters into stories without making their identity the only thing their character boils down to? After all, isn’t the goal of the LGBTQ movement to make the point that sexuality and gender isn’t such a big deal? This is often followed up by: What about Albus Dumbledore from the Harry Potter series? He’s a gay character and his sexuality was never treated like a big deal.

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Well, my answer to these questions is both yes and no. Furthermore, Albus Dumbledore is one of the characters I would like to talk about, as well as the male figure skating duo from an anime that has gained recent popularity: Yuri on Ice. I’ll also talk a little bit about Steven Universe—you know, that animated kids cartoon show about the sentient gay agender space rocks. (My tastes are varied, okay?)

What do these things all have in common? They all include LGBTQ characters without “making a big deal about it.” Their differences are that while one story—that story being Harry Potter— does a poor job in not making a big deal about it’s LGBTQ character’s sexuality, while the other two do a perfect job of it.

Before those pitchforks come up, allow me to explain: I love Harry Potter with all of my heart. It is not, however, without its flaws. The biggest flaw, which I cannot seem to get over, is that Dumbledore, who was confirmed to be a gay character outside of the books by JK Rowling herself, was never actually written as a gay character. Stories—even ones as popular as the Harry Potter series—are primarily enjoyed through whatever their traditional medium is. The medium of the Harry Potter series is the books and, arguably, the movie adaptations. Not once inside either mediums is it mentioned or stated in any way that Dumbledore is gay. It’s hinted at, both in the movies and books, but since this isn’t The Illiad or a subtly homoerotic episode of the original series of Star Trek, I don’t count it.

Here’s why I don’t count it: the majority of the books in the Harry Potter series were written after the turn of the century, during a time period in which while there might be some—or even considerable—resistance to creating clearly-stated LGBT characters, it was still available as a possibility. In stories written before the year 2000 I can give a pass for making an LGBTQ character exist as LGBTQ only in subtext rather than text. But a popular book series that after its 4^th installment was basically guaranteed to sell well no matter the quality of the content of said books? Really? I’m going to have to say I really don’t buy that JK Rowling would have been full-out prevented from writing a single but clear line where Albus Dumbledore mentions “by the way, guys, I’m gay.” That really would have been all it would have taken to win me over: a clear statement of the fact that protects LGBTQ people who might be thrilled to see themselves represented in a piece of fiction from nasty homophobes who would do anything to argue that representation away. As LGBTQ people in a homophobic world, we’re constantly facing homophobic people who use the “subtext rather than text” approach to fictional LGBTQ characters to turn our representation into a debate. If a character is not in some way clearly made to be LGBTQ in a way that cannot be argued against without extreme breeches of logic, we are left once again vulnerable and without steady role models in fiction to look up to. And we need those steady role models. They are what keep us going. They are what keep LGBTQ kids from committing suicide at a far too young age. Seeing ourselves in our fictional heroes is life-affirming and life-saving. Writing an LGBTQ character in subtext only in the modern age is unacceptable when nowadays with a little pushing one can almost always get the green light on making that subtext into text. The rare occasions in which case a story-teller doesn’t get the green light (which occasionally happens, but not very often anymore) is really the only valid excuse storytellers have left to not include LGBTQ characters in their stories.

This might make it sound like I’m against writing LGBTQ characters in a way that “doesn’t make it a big deal.” But here’s the thing: I’m actually all for it. I’m also a fan of making a huge deal about an LGBTQ character’s identity. Honestly, I’m a fan of LGBTQ representation no matter how much of a “big deal” their identity is made into. All I really want is for said LGBTQ character’s identity to be something that cannot be logically explained away. I know that no matter how clearly stated an LGBTQ character’s identity is there will still be people trying to take that away no matter what, but I still want an inside-the-story confirmation of some kind. I want something that I can cling to as canon fact when the naysayers are getting me down and telling me I’m perverted for being happy over my LGBTQ representation. I want the comfort to be able to say to myself “alright, maybe these homophobes are being jerks about how they think Dumbledore isn’t really gay, but Dumbledore stated clearly in the book that he was, so they’re wrong no matter what they say.” Like many LGBTQ people looking for representations of ourselves, I just want one piece of canon fact to cling to. I don’t feel like that’s asking for much.

So how do the shows Steven Universe and Yuri on Ice factor into this? The biggest argument I see pro-Dumbledore-as-LGBTQ-representation is that his character is allowed to exist as an LGBTQ person without the story “making a big deal about it.” My point is that confirming a character as LGBTQ within the story’s medium is all I desire, and also that there’s a way to do that without making their identity a “big deal.” The Yuri on Ice and Steven Universe manage to make it clear that their LGBTQ characters are in fact LGBTQ without “making a big deal” about it at all. Like I said, I am equally happy when an LGBTQ identity is treated as a big deal as I am when it’s not. In the cases of these two shows, it is not.

Steven Universe and Yuri on Ice both manage to confirm the identities of their LGBTQ characters without making a big deal about said identities by this alone: creating love stories without any of their characters having any sort of sexuality-related drama. In Steven Universe, the characters Ruby and Sapphire are introduced as a couple so stable, healthy, and thoroughly in love they remain fused as a single entity during most of their time. The concept of fusion, as the show explains, is when two gems (the primary alien species mentioned in the show) combine to form one being that shares both of the original two characters’ individual minds but exists in the same body. It’s described as “the ultimate connection between gems,” and Ruby and Sapphire remain fused as the character Garnet in a union that can most closely in human terms be described as marriage. Garnet herself, turns down a romantic relationship with a human male inside the show because “she already is a relationship,” and, as Garnet says so herself, “three’s a crowd.” Ruby and Sapphire are happy in a relationship while fused as Garnet and don’t want to date anyone else, separate or apart. Not only that, we see inside the show how Ruby and Sapphire first met and fused into Garnet in an episode called “The Answer,” a telling of their love story in one of the most romantic episodes of television I’ve personally ever seen. Ruby and Sapphire are confirmed time and time again as a couple, but the word “lesbian” never even needs to be mentioned (not that the show would detriment if it were). Ruby and Sapphire don’t struggle with their identities as LGBTQ for a second (again, not that it would be a detriment if they did) nor do any identity labels even need to be mentioned. Instead, their love is what’s given the emphasis, making their romance the primary focus and their identities confirmed but ultimately unimportant to the narrative.

In Yuri on Ice, the same thing is done. Neither Victor nor Yuri, the two main male characters that (spoiler alert) fall in love throughout the course of the twelve episodes of the show make a “big deal” about their sexualities. Their identities as LGBTQ people simply exists, and we see them bond, flirt, and eventually kiss and fall in love through the course of the show without either of them fretting over their sexuality. Their sexuality is not a big deal to either of them, nor is it a big deal to anyone else within the show. In fact, the only scene that resembles a “coming out” for them is when a mutual friend notices the matching rings ( “good luck charms” Yuri bought for the both of them to wear) on Yuri and Victor’s fingers during dinner, and mistakes them for wedding rings. Instead of being stumped by his friends being queer when he had no further inkling to know such a thing, he jumps immediately into congratulating them and announcing to the whole restaurant that his friend just got married. Yuri then confirms that their rings are not wedding rings and that they are not married, and the friend responds by a slightly disappointed acceptance, and everyone moves on.

This, in my opinion, is how you can have LGBT characters and “not make a big deal” about their sexualities. Not by confirming it in an interview but remaining quiet within the stories, but by having queer love blossom naturally in a lifelike way. Not to pull out my LGBTQ card, but I personally had no idea I was bisexual until I realized I had feelings for my now-girlfriend. As soon as I figured my sexuality label out I came out to my friends via text the same day and life moved on. No one made a big deal about it. This isn’t to negate the importance of coming-out stories, of course. There can certainly be stories where an LGBTQ character’s entire arc revolves around them coming to terms with their gender or sexuality and the struggles that do or don’t come with that. Those stories, where they “make a big deal” about the LGBTQ character’s identity, are important to, and have their place.

But when people who don’t quite get it talk about how “the beauty” of Dumbledore’s sexuality is that it’s not made into a big deal, I have this article to now show to them. Stories that “make a big deal” about a character’s LGBTQ identity have their place, and I am far from against the representation of an LGBTQ character’s identity as something that isn’t a big deal. What I am against, however, is the idea that “making a big deal” about an LGBTQ character’s identity is a bad thing, and the notion that any story that confirms an LGBTQ character’s identity as an undisputable fact is inherently making a big deal about it. Dumbledore-ing a character’s sexuality is not making an LGBTQ character’s identity cool, casual, or accepted: it’s cowardice. It’s taking credit for representation you never committed to writing down in your original story. By not making a character’s LGBTQ identity a clear, canon thing in the original story they’re written into, writers like JK Rowling put LGBTQ people in the vulnerable position of having to argue that their representation is indeed theirs to claim. And honestly, haven’t we been through enough? If you want to both claim your right to having represented an oppressed group in your story as well as make your character’s sexuality something that isn’t a big deal, you need to first find a way to make it that anyone experiencing your story cannot logically argue against that representation. We at the very least deserve that.