-Livia gets her elder brother (Mark) back
-Livia discovers that Julian has technically been running the institute since he was 12 and solidifies her relationship wuth her brother
-In doing so, she realises that when she grows up to be like her older brother and she’d like to run an institute when she’s older
-She solidifies her friendship with Kit
-And Ty finally agrees to be her parabatai
-She finally gets her sister (Helen) back after 5 freaking years
-They were on the verge of getting their home back which was basically her idea of heaven
-She was just trying to help her brother who was essentially in mortal danger at the hands of a resurrected ancestor
Only to then be stabbed through the heart by said resurrected ancestor. Livia had her whole life ahead of her and I’m terribly sad. I’ve been crying so much that I have hiccups.
sign me the FUCK up 👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌th 👌 ere👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my selｆ 💯 i say so💯 thats what im talking about right thereright there(chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠＯOOＯOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit
Most of these characters didn’t give a rat’s ass that HR died. And yeah, he was no Iris West. He wasn’t the love interest, the daughter, the sister, the best friend. But HR deserved more than a semi-teary farewell and Savitar seeming like he cared more about killing him than any of the people (aside from Tracy and Cisco) seemed to care about him dying.
Barry barely mentioned him after he died. Joe didn’t seem to care at all. Julian had an, “Oh wow, I missed a lot,” kind of reaction. Iris showed barely any grief about the situation until the funeral.
Like, I know the show didn’t care about HR, but this is just disgusting. And I’m probably one of about ten people who care because I see people shitting on him in the tag already.
The first thing you learn as a Christian woman is that your body belongs to God. From consecrated picket lines outside of clinics strumming “What if Jesus had been aborted?” on Evangelic guitars to the ten year girls in purity ball dresses that make them look like tiny ghosts, pledging their virginity to fathers looming over them in judgment day suits you might think being a Christian woman means choosing between having “virginity” or “future home of good Christian babies” tattooed across your uterus like baptism was a trip to the gynecologist.
The first thing you learn as a Christian woman is that your body is a temple. That it exists only to be cleaned, that nothing makes a girl look pretty like purity rings and confirmations. Christian women have never called themselves pretty. They call themselves “devoted” “faithful” “mother” “martyr” “mystic” because why just be pretty when there are so many ways to make your body sacred?
The first thing you learn as a Christian woman is that you have a lot to live up to. From the day you set foot in a church you will be compared to women who died rather than disobey God. So when they clamor for your obedience call yourself Perpetua staring down the Romans covered in the blood of every man who tries to deny you your faith. Call yourself Joan, your body igniting in flames, one last reminder that a woman stood at the head of God’s armies. Call yourself Julian, say “I will be a living proof of God’s love.” Call yourself every woman of faith who, when their fathers and brothers and husbands demanded the tithe of their bodies screamed back “NO!” with voices that rattled the heavens. Remind them the moment you were saved was not when Jesus died on the cross but the moment a poor, unmarried, Middle Eastern Jewish teenager with fear and joy writing shaky psalms across her heart said “Yes I will bear salvation into the broken body of this world.” Because even God had to ask consent before He touched a women’s body so why the fuck can’t they?
The first thing you learn as a Christian woman is that when you give your body whether to prayer, to your lover, to your children you are still pledging it to God because it is not His to take, it is yours to give. When they tell you otherwise grab the pulpit, the altar, the nails holding the pews to the floor, grab onto everything your hands can hold and don’t let go. Make your body stained glass so when they look at you they will see the history of their faith illuminated in the body of a woman and call it truth. Let them know this is your home and they cannot decide how you will exist in it.
Remind them your body is a burning oven in a house on fire, that it is the exploding center of your belief.