#harrianthe

Not to be on my butch Harrow high horse again but if Harrow were literally any other character, a scene where a teenage lesbian (who prior to severe emotional and physical distress ritualistically shaves or crops her hair) is expected to go to some Fancy Dinner by older adults, asks to wear her normal shirt and pants, is refused by another girl (who is, for the record, a rich blonde mean girl) and instead forced to wear a dress, to which she says, with dismay, "I look like my mother," that would be recognized as a nail in the coffin for butch or androgynous Harrow. But because Gideon is there and Gideon is butch, of course Harrow must be femme. Must be high femme. That's how lesbians work, right? I mean, skull face paint is makeup and a robe is just a kind of dress, isn't it?

thinking about ianthe and harrow sacreligiously indulging each other by using last names, sinning and scrambling for scraps of the pre-canonized selves neither of them thought they would miss. the selves that were tied down by something as ephemeral and ridiculous as filial piety and blood. it’s over and done and we can’t go back and don’t tell god but please just say my name out loud