kills sister

Hamilton Characters as Different Social Media Platforms
  • Alexander: Tumblr. Shitposts regularly, goes on long rants about social justice issues, daddy kink, kinda rly Gay™,hates donald trump.
  • Laurens: Deviant Art. Really likes to do the Art Thing™,is really gay, quiet when u dont know him but sO FRICKIN LOUD OTHERWISE WOO!!
  • Lafayette: Vine. naive af,does not understand most jokes but tells them again anyways,talks way too fast.
  • Hercules: Twitter: Rants a lot, lowkey a fuckboy,does not have an indoor voice as he is ALWAYS HYPED!!!!
  • Madison: Snapchat. Stays at party for like 10 mins then leaves for some reason and does not come back, kinda basic but everyone still loves him,99% pure
  • Jefferson: 4chan. Is the first to know about new memes, kinda problematic,angered easily,ironically says "make america great again"
  • Washington: Facebook. Pronounces "memes" as "mey-meys",you either rly like him or rly hate him,finds out about trends months late, dad friend.
  • Burr: Google plus. Everyone knows him ut most dont rly like him , 100% salt, steals memes from Jefferson.
  • King George: Myspace. 'hahaha remember me?",really wants people to talk to him again,lonely, still thinks its 2006
  • Eliza: Pinterest. The Mom Friend™™ ,really likes DIY projects, & does everything better than you.
  • Peggy: Ifunny. Commonly overlooked,does everything """ironically""",likes memes.
  • Angelica: Instagram. #nofilter,rly passive agressive,takes pictures of her food, has an iphone.
  • Maria: Youtube. Everyone knows her name,has a bit of a bad rep but is cool af, likes cute animals.
Just imagine it for a moment.

Imagine the pain Jasper went through when she lost her Diamond. The person she was created to serve and protect. Her only choice being to join Yellow Diamond to try to get revenge for her Diamond. To make herself feel like less of a failure.

Imagine Jasper’s hatred toward Rose for betraying her. For destroying her sole purpose for existing.

Imagine Jasper having to grieve alone for millenniums, instead of with her Quartz sisters.

Have you imagined it? Good.

Now, I want you to imagine Jasper finding out that for so long, her hatred was aimed towards the wrong person.

Imagine Jasper finding out that the Diamond she currently serves has been lying to her for thousands of years.

That this Diamond is the reason for all of her pain and suffering. That this Diamond is the one responsible for the Death of Pink Diamond.

Jasper will return, this we already know. And when she finds out the truth, her enemy won’t be Rose anymore.

She’ll be after a Diamond.

3

It seems that way, doesn’t it?

and then there was me, a queer girl in the catholic church with traditional parents. i grew up with a fingernail caught in my throat. i changed the words to songs so i’d be singing about boys. i was scared of “gay”. my mother told me it meant happy but i knew it meant being pushed to the floor of the bus. i remember my bible school teacher telling us that the greatest sin a woman can have is not giving a man her love. i remember realizing i liked girls and putting it in a box i labelled dirty and couldn’t bring myself to touch. when i came out i had to ask if my parents still loved me, like the idea of their acceptance ended where my sexuality began. they pull back when i accidentally slip and admit i like a girl. they promise the church doesn’t hate us, just doesn’t let us get married under god’s roof with god present. oh it’s a fine marriage, we accept it, but technically in the eyes of the church i’m living in sin. it would be better if i liked men. when i was 7 i was sure i was going to unhappily marry a man just to make my parents happy. at 23 i might marry a man just to make my parents happy.

god was this hard thing we couldn’t figure out how to handle. god came beyond the doors of the church. my god answered me at night but reminded me to cower. my god killed my brothers and sisters in the hands of others. how am i to reconcile that god that felt like love and belonging with the god called down in conversion camps. how am i to say i love the light of god when i have seen it burn the flesh of others.

i watch it still. for a while i was spitting and hissing and wouldn’t let god near me. i think it was better then, when i had shut my doors to the idea of it. once i tried to find god again i found myself desperately lost in the forest.

i was always so alone in church. always different. it wasn’t until i mentioned it once in an online chat that i found someone else who had gone through the same thing. how terrible, to form a community of people who have all been cast out. how powerful.

we, together, discussing at two a.m if god is real and if she is where she begins and ends. my brothers and sisters and family - we are all so strong for having survived this. for having been spat out by what should have accepted us. that first community. that first slap. the book that taught us not all books are homes. the book that i spent hours combing over looking for where my flaws were entombed. that curse that keeps following us, doggedly, just when we thought we shook it off - watching others take god as an excuse to punish us, to put into law our discrimination, to enact and enforce violence against us. “god loves you,” we were told. is this what god looks like? our first relationship with abuse?

i am stuck with an eternity of questions. can we find our own god? can we find her in each other? do we leave god entirely, and just find love in the stories of us lost lambs? is god worth it? was the word of god really to ruin us? is god even to blame for any of this, or is this how humans are when they find something to hit? 

all i know is this: i am not alone. and if you’re like me, come to me. talk. i’ll listen. god only knows nobody else did.

“My sister was murdered when I was twelve years old. Her husband killed her because of jealousy. After that it was just me and my mom. I stopped studying. I became the black sheep of the family. I left the house and went my own way. There was a gang in the neighborhood. They gave me a place to live. They gave me work. They gave me marijuana and cocaine. I was always high. My job was tocollect protection money from local businesses. There were five of us who made the rounds. When I turned fourteen they told me I was ready to ‘test the knife.’ There was a shopkeeper named Maria. Her husband was a pain in the ass. He would always scream at us and call us sons of bitches. So we stabbed him over and over. There was blood everywhere. I felt like throwing up. Afterwards I felt empty inside. So I just did more drugs. And the way I looked at it—if my sister got killed, why shouldn’t other people die? At least that’s how I always justified it to myself.”

(Bogotá, Colombia)